M-LA5IMIIBTONE 


EMMA-R  S2YLOR 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


, 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 


ONLY  YESTERDAY  MRS.  MCMNNIS  AND  OLD  TOM  t,K\NT  (,<>l 
INTO  A  DISI'l'TE  ANKNI  THE  OWNERSHIP  OV  A  II  IT1N(,  in  IHOU  I. 
MARTHA  WASHIM.niN  (,I.R\NHM  .  .  .  wr.l.L,THE  OLD  LADY  IS-\'l 
BldCjKR  THAN  A  I  1 V  K-r  I-INT  I'lEl'E,  HIT  ALL  IHKKI.  W\.-  o(  HI.K 

\\  \s  i  i'  is  ARMS  AND  WH\]   SHE   DIDN'T  S\Y 

TO     HIM     (,RANT     ISN'T     WORTH      REfORDI  M.." 
i.SEE    1'AOE    43 


THE 

LAST  MILE-STONE 

BY 

EMMA  R.  SAYLOR 


M   CM   XVII 

PAUL  ELDER  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


THE   FRONTISPIECE   IS   FROM  A   PAINTING 
INTEMPERA   BY    NORMAN    D.   EDWARDS 

THE  COVER  DESIGN  IS   BY 
RUDOLPH    F.  SCHAEFFER 


COPYRIGHT,   1917,   BY 

PAUL  ELDER  &  COMPANY 

SAN   FRANCISCO 


S2.73JL 

DEDICATED  TO  MY 

ASSOCIATES  AND  CO-WORKERS,  WHOSE 

FAITH  IN  THE  WORK  AND  IN  ME 

MADE  SUCCESS  POSSIBLE 


2029820 


CONTENTS 

THE  DISPUTE Frontispiece 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTORY    vn 

LETTER  I — The  birth  of  a  new  idea        ....  3 

LETTER  II — The  house  of  my  desire       ....  10 

LETTER  III — I  meet  an  old  friend           ....  18 

LETTER  IV — Mrs.  Riddle  takes  her  bath       ...  29 

LETTER  V — Flowers,  wrath  and  diplomacy    ...  38 

LETTER  VI — The  sorrow  of  Mr.  Lessing        ...  48 

LETTER  VII — Borrowing  trouble 53 

LETTER  VIII — Building  the  new  addition      ...  55 

LETTER  IX — Shadows 61 

LETTER  X — The  dedication 66 

LETTER  XI — One  way  of  being  happy    ....  75 

LETTER  XII — Tom  visits  the  Home       ....  83 

LETTER  XIII — The  McCurdy  gift          ....  91 

LETTER  XIV— The  plot            108 

LETTER  XV — Mrs.  Childs  scores 113 

LETTER  XVI — On  a  vacation           118 

LETTER  XVII — At  Honolulu 129 

LETTER  XVI 1 1 — Regrets           133 

LETTER  XIX — A  disappointment 136 

LETTER  XX — Dorothy's  engagement     ....  142 

LETTER  XXI — The  Hospital 146 

LETTER  XXII — Seeking  the  pot  of  gold         .        .        .  154 

LETTER  XXIII— The  Horn  of  Plenty  161 

LETTER  XXIV— The  lifting  of  the  burden    ...  164 

LETTER  XXV — Jerry's  confession 166 

[V] 


INTRODUCTORT 

S-  KELLAM,  the  philosopher 
of  the  "H ome  of  Peace,"  once  said 
to  me:  "'fis  the  last  mile-stone  of  life 
we  want  to  be  after  getting  a  good  footing 
on,  for  we  can't  go  on  and  there's  no 
turning  back,  and  the  best  of  us  are  not 
ready  to  tumble  off"  So  there  was  my 
title  —  'THE  LAST  MILE-STONE.  Then  the  subject 
matter  is,  "the  truth,  the  whole  truth  and 
nothing  but  the  truth"  As  for  the  story 
of  Edith  and  Jerry,  I  am  now  no  longer 
under  oath  and  will  not  commit  myself, 
but  the  story  might  have  happened  as 
I  tell  it.  I  leave  it  to  the  reader  to  judge. 

E.R.S. 


[VII] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

LETTER  I 
DEAR  JERRY: 

I  DON'T  know  just  where  to  begin  an  account- 
ing of  the  days  spent  in  this  little  city  of 
Southern  California  since  I  saw  you  last.  In 
the  first  place,  dear,  it  is  heavenly  to  be  friends 
again,  and  I  could  write  reams  telling  you  how 
I  missed  you  every  hour,  how  utterly  shipwrecked 
and  alone  I  felt  the  first  months  of  my  stay  here, 
and  how  often  I  felt  tempted  to  go  back,  if  not 
to  the  old  order  of  things,  at  least  back  to  the  old 
places,  back  to  where  I  knew  I  could  see  you,  to 
our  old  quarrels,  to  the  inevitable  making  up  pro- 
cess and  to  the  comfort  of  knowing  I  had  only 
to  telephone  to  bring  you  to  me. 

What  a  darling  you  have  always  been,  Jerry 
dear.  Ever  since  my  pinafore  days  it  was  you 
who  eased  my  way;  even  when  you  scolded  you 
never  succeeded  in  hiding  the  tenderness  behind 
your  words,  and  how  shamefully  I  took  advan- 
tage and  hurt  you  unthinkingly.  Did  I  ever  come 
up  to  your  expectations  in  anything?  I  think  not; 

[3] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

at  every  mile-stone  of  my  life  you  tried  to  lead  me 
in  the  path  which  promised  the  greatest  chance 
for  happiness,  and  I  always  chose  the  one  that  led 
opposite,  and,  as  you  know,  came  a  cropper;  but, 
Jerry,  my  friend,  you  never  understood  the  cross 
wires  in  my  nature  and  my  fate  was  decreed  the 
hour  of  my  birth,  and  nothing  you  could  do  could 
prevent  the  floods  of  life  rushing  over  me;  that  I 
weathered  the  storms  and  kept  some  of  my  illusions 
surprises  myself,  and  when  I  look  back  through  the 
long  vista  of  years  since  my  girlhood,  I  feel  very 
grateful  for  not  having  fallen  by  the  wayside. 

To  think  it  has  been  years  since  I  saw  you  and 
smoky  old  St.  Louis;  and  not  a  friendly  line  from 
you  in  all  that  time!  I  don't  count,  "herein  find 
check,  etc.,"  above  your  signature,  J.  A.  Monro. 
I  used  to  picture  you  when  you  wrote  it,  sitting  at 
your  desk  in  your  stuffy  office,  regretfully  recalling 
the  last  time  I  sat  there  opposite  you.  I  can't  re- 
call anything  except  your  white  face  after  that  long 
interview.  I  don't  believe  I  quite  believed  you 
when  you  told  me  you  would  no  longer  advise  me; 
that  you  no  longer  cared  to  be  drawn  into  my  pri- 
vate affairs;  that  our  ways  and  thoughts  were*  too 
far  apart.  It  seemed  impossible  that  I  had  lost 
your  friendship,  and,  candidly,  I  was  too  sure  that 
my  judgment  was  right  and  you  were  wrong,  to 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

realize  all  that  your  withdrawal  meant  to  me;  I 
was  riding  a  high-horse  of  a  fixed  purpose  and  could 
see  nothing  else.  I  always  longingly  looked  for- 
ward to  your  quarterly  reports,  even  if  the  signa- 
ture on  the  check  of  my  remittance  was  the  only 
thing  that  spanned  our  separation. 

It  was  rather  impertinent  in  Mrs.  Drummond 
to  take  it  upon  herself  to  write  you  that  I  was 
working  myself  to  death  and  frighten  you  into 
writing  me,  but  I  forgive  her  since  it  has  made  us 
friends  again,  and  I  will  bridge  these  last  years 
with  a  full  report  of  my  doings;  and  it  will  be  like 
old  times  when  I  used  to  bring  my  little  and  big 
troubles  to  you,  and  never  lacked  for  your  sym- 
pathy or  interest.  Mrs.  Drummond  was  right 
when  she  said  I  was  working  hard,  but,  Jerry,  the 
Home  of  Peace  for  the  Aged  was  the  most  provi- 
dential thing  that  could  have  happened  —  I  was 
desperately  unhappy. 

Gordon  had  again  proven  your  theory  of  the 
utter  fallacy  of  overcoming  inherited  dementia,  by 
a  violent  attack  that  compelled  his  incarceration. 
I  had  made  no  intimacies  in  the  new  friends  I  had 
met,  and  was  looking  about  for  something  to  dis- 
tract my  mind  and  to  ease  the  pain  in  my  heart. 
I  became  interested  in  the  efforts  that  a  few  well- 
meaning  women  were  making  to  interest  the 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

charitably  inclined  in  establishing  a  Home  for  the 
Aged,  and  because  my  sympathy  has  always  been 
with  old  people,  and,  vaguely,  I  had  a  theory  re- 
garding their  care,  I  drifted  into  a  movement  in 
their  behalf;  and,  Jerry,  you  can  imagine  the  result. 
From  being  at  first  only  faintly  interested,  the  idea 
of  establishing  a  Home  for  those  in  the  mellow 
years  of  life  shortly  became  an  obsession.  I  thought 
of  nothing  else  and  the  project  soon  became  my 
own;  the  other  women,  after  several  weeks  of  en- 
thusiastic assistance,  deserted  me  for  more  exciting 
pastime,  and  I  found  myself  pledged  to  carry  the 
scheme  to  success  or  ignominious  failure.  The 
more  thought  I  gave  to  the  plan  of  establishing  a 
Home  for  the  Aged,  the  more  I  realized  how  in- 
adequate other  efforts  in  this  direction  had  been, 
and  how  much  more  than  merely  supplying  food 
and  shelter  there  was  to  do. 

There  are  hundreds  of  institutions  all  over  the 
country  whose  object  is  to  provide  for  old  people. 
I've  been  in  many,  and  always  was  impressed 
with  the  hopeless  resignation  of  the  inmates;  no 
matter  how  beautiful  the  surroundings  or  magni- 
ficent the  buildings,  the  atmosphere  was  not  in- 
viting, the  aged  there  were  objects  of  pity,  and 
old  age  horrible  to  contemplate. 

Well,  Jerry  dear,  the  motif  of  my  scheme  was 

[6] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

to  have  my  Home  different  from  all  others  I  had 
seen  or  heard  of;  I  purposed  to  rob  old  age  of  all 
its  shadows,  to  prove  that  age  was  the  crown  of 
life,  and  gray  hairs  a  diadem;  to  conserve  all  the 
wonderful  wealth  of  wisdom  that  years  of  experi- 
ence brought,  and  give  it  expression  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  perfect  contentment  among  contempor- 
ary spirits.  I  was  determined  that  none  of  my 
old  people  would  excite  pity;  on  the  contrary  I 
was  going  to  bring  out  the  best  there  was  in  them, 
polish  up  their  talents  and  accomplishments,  en- 
courage them  to  live  out  their  remaining  years, 
not  rust  out.  I  intended  to  develop  their  individ- 
ualities, encourage  their  independence  and  excite 
their  pride. 

Oh!  I  can  understand  the  misery  of  utter  loneli- 
ness, the  despair  of  realizing  you  belong  nowhere, 
the  hurt  of  mere  tolerance.  No  young,  ardent 
reformer  felt  the  call  of  humanity  stronger  than 
I — the  need  of  the  Home  for  the  Aged  I  planned 
to  establish — and  thus  I  found  my  life's  work. 

It  is  a  long  cry  from  Portland  Square  to  active 
management  of  an  old  people's  Home.  I  suppose 
it  is  hard  to  visualize  the  change,  but,  Jerry,  dear, 
I  work  no  harder  now,  and  have  more  to  show  for 
the  vitality  spent,  than  an  article  in  the  society 
column.  Now  don't  remind  me  that  I  enjoyed 

[7] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

the  wild  whirl  of  social  life.  I  know  I  did — I 
loved  the  excitement  of  crowds,  music,  lights  and 
flowers;  they  stimulated  me  like  wine.  I  was  often 
too  excited  to  sleep  and  O,  the  waking  dreams  of 
those  restless  nights !  How  I  longed  for  some  great 
achievement,  something  to  do  that  was  worth 
while!  I  believe  I  have  found  my  work  and  it 
shall  be  worth  all  I  put  into  it.  Now  don't  proph- 
esy that  this  is  only  a  philanthropic  fad;  that  it 
will  fizzle  out  when  I  wake  up  to  the  fact  that 
there  is  very  little  difference  in  human  nature,  and 
that  all  the  meanness  and  contrariness  that  flesh 
is  heir  to,  is  not  overcome  with  decrepitude.  I 
have  had  several  shocks,  but  if  anything,  the  short- 
comings of  my  charges  have  only  strengthened 
my  belief  in  the  old  adage  that  it  is  never  too  late 
to  learn.  You  would  be  surprised  to  know  what 
adept  pupils  old  people  are  when  there  is  some- 
thing to  be  gained  in  the  learning.  No,  Jerry,  this 
is  not  a  fad;  it  is  an  inspiration,  and  the  results 
will  justify  all  I  am  sacrificing  in  personal  com- 
fort; besides,  the  work  is  bringing  the  better  part 
of  me  to  the  surface.  I  realize  more  than  ever  the 
wasted  years,  so  barren  of  happy  results.  I  ruth- 
lessly turned  my  back  on  all  logical  chances  of 
happiness,  and  almost — not  quite — lost  your 
dear  friendship.  Why  did  you  always  believe  in 

[8] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

me  in  spite  of  everything?  Perhaps  I'm  just  be- 
ginning to  find  myself  in  this  chosen  work,  and 
your  faith  in  me  will  be  justified;  at  least,  Jerry, 
I'm  at  peace,  almost  contented;  if  only  Gordon 
were  as  he  used  to  be — minus  his  wicked  temper. 
Poor  boy,  what  an  ending  to  so  promising  a  man ! 
I  ought  never  to  have  married  him  after  your 
warning,  but  I  thought  I  loved  him;  now  I  know 
it  was  pity  and  conceit.  I  believed  I  alone  could 
save  him  from  himself;  poor  boy,  I  would  give  my 
life  to  give  him  a  clear  brain.  I  won't  write  about 
him;  Mrs.  Drummond  no  doubt  has  given  you  all 
of  the  sordid  details,  and  besides,  I  want  to  put 
all  that  behind  me. 

I  have  my  work  to  do;  are  you  interested?  If 
what  I  have  written  of  my  old  people's  Home  has 
not  bored  you  to  extinction  and  you  want  to  hear 
more  of  it,  I  will  send  you  a  monthly  budget. 
You  might  save  the  letters,  and  when  we  are  both 
about  seventy,  we  can  turn  to  these  pages  and 
mark  their  percentage  of  merit  according  to  the 
light  of  those  added  years  of  understanding. 

Do  write  again, 

EDITH. 


[9] 


LETTER  II 
DEAR  JERRY: 

YOUR  long,  delightful  letter  to  hand.  I  have 
read  it  over  and  over  again,  just  to  feel 
the  joy  of  your  written  words.  I  not  only 
read  what  you  had  to  say,  but  felt  your  nearness 
and  heard  your  voice.  I  am  more  keenly  realiz- 
ing how  lonely  I  have  been  these  past  years,  what 
the  break  in  our  friendship  meant,  how  hungry 
I  was  for  sympathy,  your  kind  of  sympathy  that 
always  understands.  Why,  Jerry  dear,  I  was  all  in 
a  tremble  of  anticipation  when  I  recognized  your 
handwriting  on  the  bulky  envelope  that  required 
three  stamps  to  reach  me.  I  could  hardly  wait  for 
the  opportunity  to  read  your  letter  in  the  quiet  of 
my  own  room, and  I've  been  up  in  the  air  ever  since. 
I  might  have  known  you  would  be  interested 
in  my  Home  of  Peace  and  that  you  do  not  think 
it  strange  that  I  should  have  founded  it,  and  it  is 
like  you  to  say  I  will  make  my  dreams  and  hopes 
concerning  it  come  true.  Jerry,  friend,  it  is  all  work- 
ing out  beautifully,  and  a  wonderful  thing  has 
happened  since  I  wrote  you,  which  makes  me  con- 
fident that  I'm  going  to  succeed,  and  that  my 

[10] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Home  for  the  Aged  is  going  to  be  famous  before 
many  years  have  passed. 

In  order  to  have  you  appreciate  the  good  news, 
of  which  I  will  tell  you  later,  I  will  do  as  you  ask, 
and  begin  from  the  time  I  began  to  evolve  from 
a  chaos  of  dreams  the  first  substance  of  actuality, 
and  you  will  see  that  some  occult  and  benign 
influence  is  at  work  to  assist  me.  After  I  had  can- 
vassed a  number  of  prospective  patrons  whom  I 
induced  to  subscribe  toward  a  yearly  maintenance 
fund,  I  felt  sufficiently  encouraged  to  begin  active 
operations  for  establishing  the  Home.  Naturally 
my  first  step  was  to  secure  a  dwelling,  and  I  looked 
the  city  over  for  suitable  quarters,  and  after  a 
week's  search  was  pretty  well  discouraged  at  not 
finding  just  what  was  needed — a  large,  comfort- 
able, sunny  home  with  plenty  of  ground.  I  came 
home  one  evening  after  a  day's  search,  all  tired 
out,  with  little  prospect  of  finding  what  I  wanted, 
and  after  a  lonely,  late  dinner,  retired.  My  last 
waking  thoughts  were  of  that  elusive  domicile  that 
I  felt  must  be  somewhere  in  this  city  if  I  only 
could  find  it.  It  must  have  been  some  time  just 
before  dawn  when  I  was  awakened  by  a  conscious- 
ness that  some  one  had  said  "look  for  the  Whitney 
house."  It  awoke  me  fully  and  I  racked  my  brain 
for  some  clue  that  could  have  given  me  that  im- 

[ii] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

pression,  but  I  found  none.  The  name  meant  noth- 
ing to  me.  I  had  been  here  only  a  little  more  than 
a  year  and  was  of  course  not  familiar  with  every 
locality,  and  outside  of  the  set  I  met  through 
Mrs.  Drummond  knew  very  few  people.  After 
breakfast  Elinor  Bly  came  according  to  arrange- 
ment, and  we  started  on  another  house  hunt  in 
her  motor.  Now  Elinor  is  a  native  and  I  took 
it  for  granted  she  would  know  if  there  was  such 
a  place  as  the  Whitney  house,  and  was  surprised 
to  find  how  disappointed  I  was  when  she  declared 
she  had  never  heard  of  it.  We  drove  over  the 
eastern  part  of  the  city  and  visited  every  real 
estate  agent  en  route,  and  I  never  failed  to  ask  for 
that  particular  abode,  but  no  one  seemed  to  know 
any  more  about  its  existence  than  Elinor  did, 
and  she  chaffed  me  considerably  on  what  she 
called  my  nightmare. 

We  had  exhausted  every  possible  prospect  in 
the  east  end  and  were  about  to  return  home  dis- 
appointed when  I  espied  a  little  real  estate  office 
wedged  in  between  a  barber  shop  and  a  grocery. 
I  induced  Elinor  to  make  one  more  stop,  and  I 
put  my  inevitable  query,  "Have  you  any  knowl- 
edge of  a  Whitney  house?"  to  a  little  old  man  in 
charge,  expecting  him  to  reply  as  the  others  had, 
"Never  heard  of  such  a  place";  but  instead,  he 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

filled  us  with  amazement  by  not  only  replying  in 
the  affirmative,  but  by  directing  us  to  it.  The 
moment  I  saw  the  house,  I  knew  it  was  the 
house  of  my  desire — a  large,  old-fashioned  build- 
ing standing  on  the  corner  of  a  quiet  side-street, 
surrounded  by  palm  trees,  a  beautifully  kept  lawn 
and  a  perfect  wilderness  of  flowers  in  the  rear. 

I  rang  the  bell,  a  young  girl  opened  the  door, 
and  I  inquired  if  this  was  the  Whitney  house  - 
she  explained  that  a  Mr.  Whitney  had  built  it, 
but  that  her  mother  had  bought  it  years  ago.  I 
asked  her  if  it  could  be  let,  and  told  her  for  what 
purpose.  She,  smiling,  shook  her  head  and  said 
it  was  neither  for  sale  nor  for  rent,  but  somehow 
as  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  large  cool  hall  and 
winding  easy  stairway  I  knew  I  had  to  have  the 
place  and  said  so,  and  before  she  could  close  the 
interview  by  another  refusal  to  consider  the  propo- 
sition, a  voice  from  upstairs  asked  what  we 
wanted.  The  girl  explained,  and  the  voice  asked 
her  to  bring  us  up.  We  found  the  invitation  came 
from  the  girl's  mother  who  was  confined  to  her 
room.  I  lost  no  time  in  following  the  daughter. 
Elinor  went  back  to  the  motor  and,  Jerry,  I'll 
make  the  story  short;  when  I  came  out  of  that 
house  I  had  a  receipt  in  my  pocket  for  six  months' 
rent,  and  arrangements  made  to  take  possession 

[13! 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

in  ten  days'  time.  The  invalid,  I  believe,  con- 
sidered my  unexpected  offer  as  providential  as  I 
did  her  acceptance,  for  she  was  in  a  state  of  mind 
that  welcomed  a  change,  and  in  my  eagerness  to 
secure  my  dream-house,  I  offered  her  generous 
inducements  that  she  saw  fit  to  accept. 

Elinor  was  very  much  impressed  at  the  experi- 
ence, and  I  must  confess,  Jerry,  it  was  a  bit  un- 
canny, but  I  took  it  for  a  good  omen  and  lost  no 
time  in  preparing  for  the  dedication.  We  all 
worked  like  beavers  and  decorated  the  house  beau- 
tifully. The  newspapers  gave  us  an  attractive 
write-up,  published  the  photographs  of  the  pro- 
motors  and  praised  the  plan.  We  secured  one  of 
the  best  speakers  the  city  boasted  and  the  great 
day  arrived.  The  house  was  packed;  Dr.  Ghiro 
spoke  feelingly  of  what  we  hoped  to  accomplish, 
and  at  just  the  right  moment  presented  me  with  a 
flower-decorated  key  which  signified  that  the  door 
of  the  Home  was  unlocked  and  stood  wide  open 
for  the  dear  old  people  who  were  to  learn  to  love 
and  bless  it,  if  I  had  my  way  and  the  power  to 
make  it  a  place  worthy  of  them.  So  my  Home  of 
Peace  was  launched,  and  my  education  com- 
menced, for  indeed  I  had  much  to  learn,  but  my 
heart  and  mind  were  in  the  work  and  I  had  my 
vision  before  me  to  guide  me.  The  very  next  day 

[14] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

we  admitted  our  first  member  and  my  first  thorn. 

Remember,  Jerry,  I  idealized  age;  I  firmly  be- 
lieved that  all  the  virtues  possible  to  human  nature 
crystalized  with  the  weight  of  years;  it  was  a  dis- 
tinct shock  to  realize  that  the  strongest  element 
in  the  character  of  our  species  is  developed  to  the 
highest  degree  by  habit,  and  that  either  the  good 
or  evil  in  our  nature  will  predominate  in  old  age, 
according  to  the  way  we  have  thought  and  lived. 

Mrs.  Jane  Matson  is  as  handsome  an  old  lady 
as  one  could  wish  to  see — aristocratic  to  her 
finger  tips,  a  spoiled,  dissatisfied  woman,  needing 
what  the  Home  had  to  offer,  and  resenting  the 
fact.  She  wore  her  handsome  old-fashioned  gowns 
trimmed  in  rare  old  lace,  and  her  antique  jewelry, 
with  the  air  of  a  Duchess,  and  poor  little  Miss 
Grime,  who  is  our  matron,  almost  wore  herself 
to  skin  and  bones  answering  imperial  summons, 
until  she  finally  was  persuaded  she  was  not  help- 
ing to  establish  the  co-operative  spirit,  which  was 
to  be  the  foundation  of  the  Home,  by  encouraging 
the  utter  selfishness  Mrs.  Matson  was  exhibiting 
to  an  alarming  degree.  Fortunately,  a  few  days 
later,  we  added  the  dearest,  sweetest  old  lady  to 
our  family,  Mrs.  C.  C.  Malley.  She  is  as  deaf  as 
a  post,  but  can  follow  every  word  spoken  by 
watching  the  lips  of  the  speaker,  and  her  eyes 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

talk  faster  than  her  tongue.  She  has  had  three 
husbands;  the  two  C's  in  her  name  stand  for 
Casedy  and  Cutter,  and  she  speaks  of  all  three 
departed  with  equal  feeling  and  always  sheds  a 
tear  in  their  memory. 

Then  came  Captain  Lane  and  his  little  wife, 
and,  Jerry,  it  is  a  joy  to  watch  the  old  lovers;  been 
married  fifty  years  and  I  know  they  never  left 
off  spending  their  honeymoon.  Then  came  old 
lady  Seamon,  who  taught  school  in  Mexico  many 
years  ago,  and  old  Mrs.  Riddle  who  was  the  only 
survivor  of  an  Indian  massacre  in  '49,  and  several 
others  not  particularly  prominent,  but  just  eligible 
as  members  in  our  Home,  and  all  helping  to  make 
history  for  me  in  this  big  work.  We  have  fourteen 
members  (you  note  I  do  not  say  inmates;  I  think 
that  word  abominable,  it  suggests  prisons  or  in- 
sane asylums)  and  enough  applications  to  double 
that  number,  but  we  have  exhausted  our  resources 
both  financially  and  practically,  and  until  we  get 
more  money  cannot  expand. 

How  I  wish  I  were  worth  millions;  how  much 
real  happiness  I  could  buy;  but  what  is  the  use 
of  spending  fruitless  time  in  just  wishing!  I  intend 
to  get  the  millions  and  lay  them  at  the  feet  of  old 
age  and  say,  "Here,  old  man,  and  you,  dear  old 
lady,  is  your  reward  of  merit;  for  every  hour  of 

[i6J 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

hard  work  you  have  accomplished,  for  every  kind 
act  you  shall  receive  a  holiday,  and  the  holiday 
will  be  bright  and  happy.  Spend,  as  you  used  to 
wish  you  could  spend  them,  without  a  care  in  the 
world,  and  a  song  in  your  heart."  There  is  much 
more  to  tell  before  I  reach  the  next  stage  of  de- 
velopment, but  I  want  to  draw  my  narrative  out 
a  little  longer,  just  for  the  pleasure  of  living  over 
the  incidents  by  reciting  them  to  you.  I  want 
you  to  know  my  people  as  I  know  them  and  to 
love  them  as  I  do,  and  to  participate  from  month 
to  month  in  my  hopes  and  plans.  Therefore  I  shall 
not  tell  you  in  this  letter  what  the  wonderful  thing 
is,  promised  for  the  Home,  but  leave  you  to  guess, 
continuing  in  my  next. 

With  oodles  of  love,  your  satisfied, 

EDITH. 


[17] 


LETTER  III 
MINE  FRIEND: 

IT  IS  not  time  to  send  you  the  third  budget, 
you  will  hardly  have  read  my  last,  but  I'm 
tired  and  yet  not  ready  for  sleep,  and  lone- 
some. True,  I  could  surround  myself  with  pleas- 
ant people;  I've  met  any  number  since  I  founded 
the  Home  of  Peace,  but  my  days  are  so  full  and 
I  see  so  many  strangers  during  my  working  hours 
that  I'm  rather  on  edge  when  night  falls,  and 
not  very  good  company  to  inflict  on  others  — 
just  the  kind  of  mood  I  should  be  sure  to  deluge 
you  with  were  you  here  instead  of  thousands  of 
miles  away. 

How  I  would  love  to  have  you  sitting  opposite 
me.  I  have  a  large  armchair  that  always  reminds 
me  of  you;  it  is  very  much  like  the  one  that  used  to 
be  in  our  old  library.  Since  your  first  letter  I  have 
given  it  a  place  all  its  own  opposite  the  fireplace, 
and  call  it  your  chair,  and  I  picture  you  now  sit- 
ting in  it  as  I  write  and  if  there  is  anything  in 
telepathy  you  must  often  know  I  'm  talking  silently 
to  you. 
Jerry,  I  love  this  California  town;  from  my  win- 

[18] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

dow  I  can  look  over  the  Bay  and  see  the  battle- 
ships at  anchor,  the  sails  of  yachts,  and  the  many 
launches  that  are  mere  specks  on  the  dark  blue 
surface.  I  have  built  my  bungalow  on  an  angle 
of  two  canyons,  and  although  I'm  only  a  short 
distance  from  the  heart  of  the  city,  one  has  to 
skirt  the  edge  of  the  town  and  detour  quite  a 
grade  to  reach  me.  The  situation  is  quite  isolated, 
yet  from  the  near  distance  the  faint  noises  of  city 
life  reach  me.  The  honk  of  the  automobile  horn 
and  clang  of  street  car  gongs  are  characteristically 
urban,  yet  quail,  rabbits  and  occasional  stray 
coyotes  slip  over  the  side  of  the  canyon  and  make 
free  in  my  garden.  I  am  glad  that  two  deep  cuts 
in  the  topography  of  this  section  of  the  town  will 
always  insure  my  isolation  and  leave  the  wild 
things  of  nature  undisturbed. 

I  love  the  climate,  although  it  is  not  perpetual 
sunshine  as  is  claimed  in  real  estate  folders;  that 
would  be  as  unbearable  as  the  continual  smile  on 
a  human  face;  but  we  do  have  such  beautiful 
weather.  Days  and  days  bright,  brisk  and  stimu- 
lating when  it  seems  just  fine  to  be  alive,  and  all 
things  possible!  There  is  so  much  of  California, 
a  spacious  variety,  everything  nature  has  to  offer 
here  is  on  such  a  generous  scale,  that  it  seems  in- 
credible that  small  vanities,  petty  meannesses,  can 

[19] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

survive.  Whenever  I  feel  a  mental  cramping  or 
spasm  of  ill  nature,  I  motor  out  to  the  mountains 
by  myself  and  benefit  by  their  silent  sermons. 
This  has  been  the  safety  valve  of  my  existence 
since  I  came  here. 

I  could  not  talk  of  Gordon  to  any  one;  no  one 
here  knew  him.  It  was  at  Los  Angeles  that  the 
worst  happened  and  I  had  to  put  him  away  and  I 
came  here  to  forget,  if  I  could,  the  bitter  humilia- 
tion of  his  trial  and  commitment.  I  don't  know 
why  I  chose  this  place;  its  scenic  beauty  and 
quaintness  had  appealed  to  me  years  ago  when  I 
toured  the  coast,  and  I  hoped  to  meet  no  one  that 
knew  me  in  St.  Louis,  but  the  day  after  my  arrival 
I  met  Emily  Reeves,  and  I  realized  the  world  was 
too  small  to  hide  in.  You  remember  her,  don't 
you,  Jerry?  She  is  the  Lessings'  eldest  daughter. 
The  Lessings  are  living  here  and  Emily  was  down 
from  Long  Beach  on  a  visit.  Of  course  she  had 
heard  all  about  Gordon,  but  had  the  tact  not  to 
sympathize.  She  has  lost  her  only  daughter  and 
is  feeling  pretty  bitter  at  the  trick  Destiny  has 
played  her.  It  has  made  her  a  trifle  hard,  but  I 
believe  it  is  only  an  external  hardness  that  hides 
the  heartache.  She  was  brusque  in  her  greeting, 
but  I  felt  her  unspoken  sympathy  and  appreciated 
her  asking  no  questions.  I  have  seen  her  a  number 

ho] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

of  times  since,  but  only  by  chance,  and  not  until 
a  few  weeks  ago  did  I  see  either  of  the  Lessings, 
and  that  meeting,  too,  was  by  the  merest  accident. 
It  was  at  the  bank;  just  as  I  turned  from  the 
paying  teller's  window  I  collided  with  Henry  Less- 
ing.  He  recognized  me  immediately,  although  it 
has  been  years  since  last  we  met,  and  I  know  I 
am  very  much  changed.  I  can't  recall  what  either 
of  us  said  the  first  moments  after  our  meeting.  I 
felt  rather  than  heard  the  kindly  interest  in  his 
words.  We  walked  toward  the  writing  room  and 
sat  down  in  the  comfortable  chairs  provided  there 
and  talked  of  St.  Louis  and  the  old  neighbors,  who, 
in  years  gone  by,  had  also  been  our  friends.  I 
knew  he  was  making  conversation  in  order  to  give 
me  time  to  recover  my  self-possession,  for  I  felt 
ashamed  of  the  momentary  weakness  that  be- 
trayed my  hurt,  and  the  fear  of  being  questioned 
about  Gordon.  He  asked  about  the  old  people's 
Home.  Said  he  had  been  following  my  work 
through  the  newspapers,  and  had  wondered  why  I 
never  asked  him  for  a  subscription.  I  told  him 
what  had  been  accomplished  and  what  I  hoped  to 
do,  and  as  I  talked,  I  forgot  all  about  the  miser- 
able trouble  of  my  life  and  the  dread  of  meeting 
old  friends,  and  painted  in  word-pictures  my 
Dream-Home  for  the  aged. 

[21] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Perhaps  because  I  am  so  terribly  in  earnest  I 
impressed  him,  for  he  followed  me  with  real  in- 
terest, asking  pertinent  questions  as  I  expatiated 
on  the  subject,  and  watching  me  narrowly  all  the 
while.  I  did  not  question  his  interest,  I  simply 
knew  somehow  I  had  found  a  kindred  spirit,  and 
that  for  some  inexplicable  reason  he  had  material- 
ized as  a  factor  in  my  work.  We  took  no  account 
of  time  as  we  talked,  until  I  suddenly  realized  it 
was  past  banking  hours  and  the  shades  of  the  bank 
had  been  drawn.  We  left  the  bank,  still  talking 
on  the  same  subject.  He  told  me  then  I  had 
anticipated  his  own  intentions;  that  he  and  Mrs. 
Lessing  had  talked  of  founding  a  Home  for  the 
Aged,  and  now  that  he  was  no  longer  active  in  his 
eastern  companies,  both  his  sons  having  developed 
into  hard-headed  business  men,  capable  of  going 
on  where  he  left  off,  he  had  to  find  some  local 
interest  to  keep  him  out  of  mischief,  and  some- 
thing that  could  use  some  of  his  money  as  he 
wanted  it  used.  He  told  me  without  boasting  that 
he  was  rich — too  rich — and  his  interests  were 
making  him  richer  while  he  slept;  that  his  family 
would  now  need  only  to  spend  money;  the  making 
of  it  had  become  merely  automatic.  It  all  sounded 
like  a  fairy  tale  for  it  did  not  seem  so  long  ago 
when  he  was  making  the  sparks  fly  at  his  forge. 

[22] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

He  certainly  has  hammered  and  fashioned  his 
destiny  with  the  sure  stroke  of  genius  that  marked 
his  workmanship  in  his  shop. 

He  smiled  down  on  me  from  his  great  height 
and  declared  I  was  the  last  person  he  would  have 
associated  with  strenuous  philanthropy  or  altru- 
ism, but  that  I  had  presented  the  proposition  from 
an  angle  he  never  had  thought  of.  I  knew  he  was 
questioning  my  disposition  to  stick  to  the  hard 
work  it  entailed,  and  I  rather  resented  the  infer- 
ence. He  could  not  disassociate  me  from  the  life 
I  led  in  St.  Louis,  and  he  had  a  wholesome,  can- 
did contempt  for  the  frivolous  society  woman, 
and  although  he  did  not  say  so,  he  was  trying  to 
reconcile  my  present  activities  with  its  serious 
responsibilities,  with  his  conception  of  what  he 
had  always  considered  my  limitations,  or  that  of 
any  other  woman,  brought  up  as  I  had  been. 

He  has  always  accomplished  so  much,  and  is  one 
of  the  few  self-made  men  whose  honesty  or  com- 
petency is  never  questioned.  He  has  gone  rough- 
shod over  the  stony  places  in  his  life,  asking  or 
giving  no  quarter.  There  were  no  half  measures; 
he  gave  freely,  unsparingly,  the  best  there  was  in 
him  to  all  he  undertook,  and  he  expected  and 
exacted  the  best  in  others.  His  life  has  been  with 
men,  men  of  brawn  and  muscle.  His  was  the 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

greater  intelligence,  a  born  boss,  combining  a  rare 
executive  ability  with  the  mechanical  genius  of  an 
artisan.  It  is  no  wonder  that  he  became  the  peer 
of  manufacturing  barons,  and  then  too  rich  to 
make  mere  work  any  longer  an  incentive. 

Jerry,  I  wish  men  like  Lessing  wouldn't  retire. 
It  is  a  mistaken  idea  that  work  ages;  it  does  not, 
but  enforced  idleness  does.  Oh,  the  pathos  behind 
his  remarks  when  he  spoke  of  having  shouldered 
his  burdens  on  his  sons,  and  qualifying  by  giv- 
ing his  reason  for  doing  so,  the  invalidism  of  his 
wife!  His  love  for  his  wife  is  the  biggest  thing  in 
his  life,  and  I'm  sure  it  was  the  leverage  that  sepa- 
rated him  from  his  factories  and  put  him  into  the 
bondage  of  retirement.  Knowing  all  this  I  thought 
better  of  my  resentment  and  tried  to  justify  myself 
in  his  better  opinion.  I  told  him  of  my  youthful  am- 
bitions, of  my  constant  desires  for  active  work;  I 
reminded  him  I  was  my  father's  daughter  and  had 
rightly  inherited  his  great  capacity  for  work,  and 
then  I  told  him  of  Gordon,  and  why  I  must  be 
occupied  or  go  mad.  I  explained  I  did  not  need 
money,  I  had  enough  for  my  needs  or  I  might 
have  found  consolation  in  working  for  my  living, 
but  in  the  care  of  my  old  people,  the  planning  of 
that  wonderful  Home  of  Peace,  I  was  rinding  my 
solace  and  my  happiness.  Well,  Jerry  boy,  it  was 

[24] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

a  momentous  meeting.  I've  secured  an  ally  and 
found  an  old  friend. 

This  is  what  I  meant  when  I  told  you  in  my  last 
letter  that  something  had  come  to  the  Home. 
Our  compact  was  all  very  solemn.  Mr.  Lessing  is 
to  share  my  work,  but  I  am  bound  by  a  promise 
to  see  the  thing  through.  It  is  to  be  developed 
gradually,  like  the  unfolding  of  a  great  canvas, 
and  some  day  the  beautiful  picture  will  stand  re- 
vealed in  all  its  perfect  harmony,  a  lesson  in  mod- 
ern philanthropy,  a  thing  of  beauty  and  a  joy 
forever!  Amen. 

The  first  step  was  to  find  a  permanent  location 
for  the  Home,  and  we  searched  over  a  radius  of 
several  miles  and  found  just  what  we  wanted;  a 
fine  old  house  in  the  midst  of  orange  and  lemon 
trees.  There  are  ten  acres  of  highly  cultivated 
land,  barns,  chicken  houses  and  a  vegetable  gar- 
den—  just  an  ideal  spot  for  my  old  dears;  they 
will  have  a  magnificent  view  of  white-capped 
mountains  and  a  glimpse  of  the  sea.  It  is  only 
seven  miles  from  the  centre  of  the  city  and  the 
electric  cars  are  only  a  block  away,  yet  it  is  the 
country,  with  all  that  the  country  means,  quiet, 
idyllic  peacefulness.  It  is  a  big  part  of  my  dream 
come  true,  for  Mr.  Lessing  has  given  his  check  for 
it  and  tomorrow  we  get  the  deed.  I  am  too  happy 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

to  sleep,  therefore  I  'm  writing  to  you  into  the  wee 
hours  of  the  night,  so  that  you  can  rejoice  with 
me  and  wish  me  well. 

Mr.  Lessing  is  first  a  business  man,  then  a  phil- 
anthropist. We  are  to  incorporate.  There  are  to 
be  five  directors;  a  banker,  a  financier,  a  judge, 
Mr.  Lessing  and  "yours  truly."  It  all  sounds  very 
formidable  and  we  have  had  some  pretty  warm 
arguments,  Mr.  Lessing  and  I,  regarding  the  fu- 
ture management.  He  says  I  am  too  visionary 
and  sentimental.  I  tell  him  no  big  work  suc- 
ceeded unless  there  were  visions  and  sentiment. 
There  must  be  a  goal.  I  had  hitched  my  wagon 
to  a  star.  I  would  look  up,  not  down,  for  guidance, 
and  the  Home  must  be  the  embodiment  of  senti- 
ment. I  claim  my  old  people  have  hearts  and 
memories,  and  both  should  be  kept  tender  in  the 
environment  I  mean  to  create  for  them. 

He  wanted  to  send  for  literature  of  other  insti- 
tutions to  fashion  our  rules  by.  I  would  have  none 
of  them.  I  want  no  irksome  restrictions  nor  do  I 
want  to  fashion  over  old  lives.  My  people  will 
not  need  to  ask  permission  to  leave  the  premises 
or  to  receive  visitors.  They  will  be  free  to  come 
and  go  and  they  can  have  their  old  cronies  come 
to  tea  with  them  when  they  please.  There  will  be 
an  admission  fee,  of  course,  for  I  do  not  want  the 

[26] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

stigma  of  chanty  to  mar  their  happiness.  I  should 
like  to  encourage  the  paying  of  admission  fees  to 
homes  for  the  aged  before  the  Home  is  needed; 
it  is  better  than  life  insurance  or  as  good,  for  old 
age  should  be  provided  for.  It  comes  on  un- 
noticed and  then  it  often  is  too  late. 

Mr.  Lessing  and  I  wax  warm  over  our  differ- 
ences of  opinion  but  in  the  end  I  win,  although  he 
says,  "Well,  try  it  your  way  first  and  we'll  see," 
as  if  he  were  sure  I'd  see  the  wisdom  of  his  con- 
clusions before  long.  I  enjoy  his  deep  interest  in  the 
work.  Yesterday  we  again  inspected  the  premises 
he  purchased.  I  pictured  how  the  Home  would 
appear  before  long;  tiny  cottages  for  two,  sur- 
rounding the  main  building,  a  flower  garden  in 
front  of  each,  a  smoking  pavilion  for  the  men, 
an  annex  kitchen  for  the  women,  where  their  be- 
tween-meal,  tea  or  coffee,  could  be  prepared  by 
themselves,  an  assembly  room  for  services,  lec- 
tures, musicales  and  dances  (for  my  old  folks  will 
want  to  dance  by  that  time  in  the  joy  of  living), 
and  a  real  hospital  fully  equipped.  Mr.  Lessing 
gravely  followed  my  fancy  and  my  finger  as  I 
pointed  out  the  location  of  all  these  future  appur- 
tenances, and  then  said,  "You  make  me  see  it  all, 
child,  and  I  believe  it  is  a  prophecy;  you  believe 
in  the  possibility  and  that  is  half  the  battle."  He 

[27] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

is  a  dear,  Jerry.  I  don't  think  about  the  money; 
it  is  his  interest,  his  belief  in  the  proposition  that 
helps.  I  feel  now  I  have  a  strong  ally  and  that 
nothing  can  keep  us  from  creating  the  greatest 
Home  of  its  kind  in  the  world,  and  the  happiest. 

It  is  very  late.  I'm  not  tired,  I  could  write  vol- 
umes and  not  tell  you  all  there  is  to  tell,  but  I 
have  a  busy  day  before  me,  so  I  will  spare  you 
until  the  next  regular  chapter  is  due. 

Au  revoir, 

EDITH. 


[28] 


LETTER  IV 
DEAR  JERRY: 

IT  HAS  been  a  very  busy  month.  I've  had  no 
time  to  think  of  myself  and  I  am  too  tired  at 
night  to  write,  although  I  've  often  longed  to 
have  you  near  to  talk  over  the  day's  doings.  We 
are  temporarily  settled  in  our  new  home.  I  say  tem- 
porarily, for  we  are  building  an  addition,  and  it 
necessitated  a  little  cramping  of  space.  Mr.  Less- 
ing  and  I  soon  discovered  that  the  dining-room  of 
the  old  house  was  far  too  small  for  our  purposes 
and  he  fell  readily  into  my  suggestion  of  adding  an 
extension  to  the  rear.  It  is  to  contain  a  large  mis- 
sion dining-room  for  seventy-five  to  eighty  diners, 
a  pantry  and  a  storeroom  and  a  detached  fire- 
proof kitchen.  It  will  also  have  a  number  of  addi- 
tional bedrooms. 

He  has  also  arranged  for  the  installation  of  a 
steam  plant  with  sufficient  heating  capacity  for  all 
our  future  cottages,  annexes  and  the  wonderful 
hospital  we  will  be  sure  to  acquire  some  day.  It 
has  been  such  fun  to  plan  everything.  Mr.  Less- 
ing  is  testing  my  practicability,  I  know,  and  I 
believe  he  is  beginning  to  see  that  I  can  combine 

[29] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

common  sense  and  a  practical  knowledge  of  man- 
agement with  sentiment.  He  enjoys  coming  out 
and  talking  with  our  members.  I  bought  a  cow 
last  week  and  surprised  him  with  a  glass  of  but- 
termilk. He  praised  the  milk  but  questioned  my 
ability  to  run  a  dairy,  but  as  usual  our  argument 
ended  by  his  promise  to  duplicate  my  donation, 
so  we  will  add  another  milcher  to  our  establish- 
ment. We  have  a  long-legged  gardener  who  is  to 
raise  all  the  vegetables  we  eat,  and  we  plan  to 
have  an  orchard  to  supply  our  fruit.  I'm  afraid 
the  lemon  orchard,  as  a  business  proposition,  is  not 
going  to  pay;  however,  that  is  a  question  for  ex- 
perience to  settle  later.  We  moved  from  our  old 
quarters  in  relays,  settling  part  of  our  members 
comfortably  before  disturbing  the  others. 

Elinor  Ely  and  Mrs.  Carter,  who  have  been  the 
loyal  ones  and  stood  by  me  from  the  beginning, 
offered  their  services  to  help  move  our  family, 
and  I  did  not  hesitate  to  accept  their  offer.  Mrs. 
Carter  is  a  past  mistress  in  handling  domestic 
problems  and  it  was  at  her  suggestion  that  the 
feeble  or  more  helpless  members  were  transferred 
first,  leaving  the  strong  and  more  capable  ones  to 
look  after  and  assist  at  the  old  place.  The  actual 
moving  of  furniture  and  effects  was  not  as  difficult 
as  it  might  seem,  for  both  the  rented  house  and  the 

[30] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

one  we  purchased  were  fully  furnished  as  to  essen- 
tials, but  every  member  had  some  keepsake;  a 
precious  chair,  couch,  books,  pictures,  et  cetera, 
that  had  to  be  handled  with  care,  under  the 
anxious  supervision  of  the  owner. 

I  want  to  tell  you  what  happened  the  second  day 
of  the  moving.  Mrs.  Riddle  is  a  very  large,  corpu- 
lent woman  who  labors  under  a  mountain  of  fat, 
on  crutches.  She  is  very  tall,  the  mother  of  thir- 
teen children,  and  boasts  of  having  midwifed  into 
the  world  the  largest  number  of  native  sons  and 
daughters  of  this  city.  She  took  her  weekly  bath 
religiously  on  every  Tuesday  at  just  2  p.m.  It 
happened  that  that  was  the  hour  when  van  number 
two  arrived  and  the  matron  was  busy  directing  the 
men  where  to  place  the  things  they  brought.  Mrs. 
Riddle  called  Mrs.  Grime,  as  she  passed  her  door, 
and  reminded  her  the  day  and  the  hour  of  her 
bath  had  arrived.  Mrs.  Grime  explained  that  the 
bath  would  have  to  be  postponed  until  things 
were  settled.  Mrs.  Riddle  eyed  her  accusingly  and 
pronounced  judgment.  "I  believe  in  punctuality; 
I  must  have  my  bath  now."  Mrs.  Grime  again 
told  her  it  was  too  inopportune  to  consider,  and 
went  her  busy  way. 

An  hour  later  Captain  Lane  came  rushing  out 
to  find  the  matron,  but  when  he  saw  me  he  ex- 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

citedly  bade  me  go  to  the  bath-room  to  Mrs. 
Riddle's  rescue,  as  she  was  screaming  for  help. 
Frightened,  I  rushed  pell-mell  up  the  stairs,  the 
matron  and  other  members  following  closely;  we 
found  the  door  of  the  bath-room  bolted,  heard  the 
staccato  squeals  of  Mrs.  Riddle  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  running  water.  The  excitement  had 
brought  some  of  the  workmen  of  the  new  building 
to  the  scene,  and  at  my  order  the  lock  was  broken. 
I  never  will  forget  the  picture  that  confronted  me. 
Mrs.  Riddle  fairly  rilled  the  tub,  the  water  was 
streaming  and  running  over  the  sides;  she  was  as 
red  as  a  boiled  lobster,  and  wedged  in  so  tightly 
she  could  not  move,  and  the  hot  water  tap  turned 
on  and  out  of  her  reach.  I  shut  off  the  water  and 
hastily  tested  its  temperature  and  was  relieved 
to  find,  although  uncomfortably  warm,  it  was  not 
scalding  her.  I  asked  what  she  meant  by  dis- 
obeying the  matron.  She  answered  as  noncha- 
lantly as  if  she  were  sitting  normally  in  an  easy 
chair,  "I  wanted  my  bath  and  I  got  it,"  and  did 
not  seem  in  the  least  embarrassed  by  the  predica- 
ment her  insistence  had  placed  her  in.  The  matron 
and  I  then  attempted  to  get  her  on  her  feet  and 
out  of  the  tub,  but  it  was  a  physical  impossibility 
to  budge  her.  We  drained  the  tub  and  called  in 
more  help  and  tugged  and  pulled  without  avail. 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Mrs.  Riddle  never  turned  a  hair,  taking  our  hercu- 
lean efforts  in  her  behalf  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
part  of  the  necessary  detail  of  that  particular, 
much-desired  bath.  Finally  we  put  a  sheet  over 
her  generous  pinkness  and  called  in  a  couple  of  the 
huskiest  workmen  on  the  building  job;  they  did 
not  succeed  any  better  than  we  did,  and  I  was 
afraid  one  or  the  other  would  come  away  with  a 
detached  arm.  So  I  was  perfectly  willing  to  listen 
to  the  sheepish  suggestion  of  one  of  the  men  to 
fetch  a  board  and  to  pry  her  out.  This  was  done 
and  I'm  afraid  none  of  us  thought  of  possible 
splinters  when  the  heavy  plank  was  brought.  The 
men  set  to  work  in  earnest  now;  there  was  no  hesi- 
tancy in  their  methods;  a  heavy,  almost  inanimate 
body  had  to  be  moved,  and  the  accomplishment 
of  that  object  was  part  of  their  regular  business. 
Mrs.  Riddle  left  the  job  of  getting  out  of  the  tub 
to  them  and  watched  the  proceeding  with  less  in- 
terest than  we  did.  I  certainly  was  relieved  when 
she  was  finally  transferred  to  a  chair  in  the  room. 
Once  she  got  on  her  feet  and  on  her  crutches  she 
was  herself  again,  and  she  returned  to  her  room 
in  calm,  majestic  triumph.  She  had  taken  her 
bath,  her  system  had  not  been  encroached  upon, 
and  nothing  I  could  say  could  make  her  under- 
stand the  absurdity  of  the  situation.  The  incident 

[33] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

has  had  this  moral.  A  bath  of  easy  access  must  be 
furnished  for  persistent,  methodical  fat  bathers, 
and  a  nice  smooth  plank  kept  in  readiness  for 
future  like  emergencies. 

Well,  we  succeeded  in  settling  them  all  for  the 
time  being,  and  until  the  completion  of  the  new 
wing  we  had  to  put  two  in  one  room.  After  much 
thought  the  matron  and  I  allowed  them  to  choose 
room  mates,  and  so  pleased  every  one;  and  I  will 
say  this  much  for  them,  they  behaved  beautifully 
and  didn't  grumble  half  as  much  as  I  expected 
at  the  general  upheaval  of  their  orderly  lives.  The 
men  take  a  lively  interest  in  watching  the  con- 
struction of  the  addition,  and  the  women  in  ex- 
amining the  grounds  and  finding  unlooked-for 
treasures.  Mrs.  Matley  found  the  only  almond 
tree  on  the  place.  Mrs.  Stowe,  who,  by  the  way, 
does  the  most  beautiful  needle-work  I  ever  saw, 
discovered  a  mother  cat  and  kittens,  while  old 
lady  Sharr  found  a  hen  sitting  on  a  stolen  nest 
under  a  rose  bush.  I  go  out  to  View  Dale  early  in 
the  morning,  and  have  been  spending  the  greater 
part  of  the  day  at  the  Home,  looking  after  the 
details  of  the  new  building,  and  it  is  like  coming 
home  to  me,  for  my  adopted  family  are  always 
watching  for  my  coming  and  greet  me  as  if  they 
really  cared. 

[34] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Mr.  Lessing  rarely  fails  in  his  daily  visit  and 
now  knows  all  our  members  by  name.  He  is  par- 
ticularly interested  in  Captain  Prime,  who  is  our 
librarian  and  orator.  His  title  of  Captain  is  not 
pseudonymous,  but  his  by  right  of  service.  He 
comes  of  old  English  stock,  and  was  educated  for 
the  ministry  and  was  always  a  great  reader.  How 
he  took  to  seafaring  for  a  living  is  one  of  those 
unaccountable  freaks  of  Fate  that  is  always  up- 
setting the  calculations  of  human  beings.  How- 
ever, he  must  have  excelled  in  his  vocation  for  he 
was  given  great  responsibilities  by  the  govern- 
ment, and  his  log-book  has  been  used  for  data  in 
writing  the  history  of  California  of  the  epoch- 
making  era  of  '49.  He  has  told  us  some  intensely 
interesting  incidents  of  those  adventurous  days, 
for  he  rounded  the  Horn  time  and  time  again  when 
the  gold  rush  brought  settlers  from  all  parts  of  the 
globe,  and  when  might,  and  not  right,  ruled.  He 
must  have  been  a  powerful  man  physically,  in  his 
prime,  for  although  he  is  thin  almost  to  emacia- 
tion, his  shoulders  drawn  to  a  stoop,  his  great 
hands  and  large  frame  and  fine  head  give  evidence 
of  past  great  strength  and  endurance.  He  is  very 
feeble  physically,  but  has  a  wonderfully  well  pre- 
served mentality  and  a  tenacious  hold  on  life. 
His  memory  is  remarkable;  he  recites  pages  of 

[351 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

prose  and  poetry  in  a  voice  whose  strength  is  all 
out  of  proportion  to  his  frail  body.  We  always  call 
upon  him  to  do  the  honors  of  the  Home  on  state 
occasions.  He  is  so  indubitably  a  gentleman,  so 
gentle,  considerate  of  others,  that  we  all  love 
and  respect  him.  His  keen  intellect  and  whimsical 
sense  of  humor  make  him  easily  the  most  popular 
man  of  the  Home.  I  like  to  listen  to  the  Captain 
and  Mr.  Lessing  talking;  it  takes  one  backward 
to  strenuous  achievement.  Both  have  accom- 
plished so  much  in  their  own  way,  although  the 
lines  of  their  lives  have  been  so  far  apart,  and  the 
character  of  their  work  and  natures  were  so  dif- 
ferent, yet  here  they  sit  side  by  side,  meeting  on 
the  same  plane — experience — finding  a  common 
interest  in  a  golden  past. 

It  is  all  so  very  beautiful,  Jerry,  seeing  it  as  I 
do,  and  all  very  much  worth  while.  Age  has  its 
compensation,  but  it  must  be  earned.  Our  duty 
never  ceases  until  we  reach  the  grave,  and  neither 
does  our  schooling;  we  must  learn  the  final  lesson 
of  life,  the  art  of  growing  old  beautifully  and  earn 
the  reward — contentment. 

I  must  make  my  monthly  visit  to  Gordon  to- 
morrow; how  I  dread  it.  It  unsettles  me  for  days 
afterward;  sometimes  I  feel  I  cannot  bear  the 
thought  of  his  incarceration  any  longer.  He  never 

[36] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

knows  me,  and  prattles  like  a  child.  His  great 
body  loses  nothing  of  its  symmetry  and  his  eyes 
have  the  innocent  expression  of  a  baby.  The  doc- 
tors tell  me  he  has  frequent  violent  outbreaks 
when  forceful  restraint  is  necessary,  but  I'm  glad 
I've  never  seen  him  when  he  was  that  way.  It 
would  be  too  dreadful. 

Poor  father,  his  pride  is  the  hardest  thing  about 
him;  even  the  proof  of  Gordon's  irresponsibility 
has  not  mitigated  the  fact  of  the  disgrace  of  his 
actions,  and  he  cannot  understand  why  I  will  not 
divorce  him.  Well,  we  must  all  lead  our  several 
lives  as  Fate  decrees  and  I  must  seek  my  own 
salvation  in  my  work  for  the  aged. 

Lovingly  yours, 

EDITH. 


[37] 


LETTER  V 

JERRY,  DEAR  FRIEND: 

YOU  are  very  persistent  in  questioning  me 
about  myself  apart  from  the  work  of  the 
Home.  The  reason  I  have  not  told  you 
more  of  my  daily  life  besides  what  pertains  to  my 
interest  there,  is  that  there  is  not  much  to  tell. 
My  menage  at  present  consists  of  one  maid  whose 
duties  are  manifold,  and  a  Chinese  cook  who  can 
and  does  give  me  excellent  meals,  and  who  un- 
obtrusively keeps  an  eye  on  my  physical  welfare. 
He  also  gardens  for  me;  he  is  a  genius  with  flowers, 
and  my  garden  is  really  beautiful.  Yes,  Jerry, 
my  bungalow  is  large  enough  to  hold  a  companion, 
several  of  them  if  I  wished  to  have  them,  but  surely 
at  my  time  of  life  I  don't  need  either  a  chaperon 
or  paid  companion.  Some  day  when  Dorothy  is 
old  enough  to  leave  school,  I  shall  send  for  her, 
and  then  I  am  always  expecting  brother  Tom  to 
tire  of  his  eternal  wanderings  and  be  willing  to 
come  and  live  with  me.  In  the  meantime  I  prefer 
to  live  alone,  and  thoroughly  enjoy  my  complete 
emancipation. 

I  am  not  easily  accounted  for  in  this  little  town; 

[38] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

my  work  brings  me  into  the  limelight,  of  course, 
and  there  is  sensed  that  all  has  not  been  well  with 
me,  and  naturally  my  motives  in  establishing  the 
Home  have  been  questioned  and  no  doubt  a  great 
many  believe  I'm  getting  compensation  for  my 
work  and  cannot  reconcile  the  position  of  Manag- 
ing Director  of  a  modest  institution  with  my  rather 
pretentious  bungalow  and  my  motor. 

The  Lessings  are  not  in  society  here,  so  they 
cannot  be  my  social  sponsors  if  I  wanted  them  to, 
which  I  don't.  They  live  very  quietly,  and  I  be- 
lieve very  few  realize  he  is  the  Henry  Lessing 
whose  advertisements  glare  at  you  from  every 
magazine  published.  I  have  dined  with  them 
from  time  to  time  and  enjoyed  doing  it.  Mrs. 
Lessing  is  very  miserable  physically,  but  the 
essence  of  patience,  and  is  really  pleased  at  the 
interest  Mr.  Lessing  takes  in  the  old  folk's  Home. 

She  told  me,  with  one  of  her  illuminative  smiles, 
that  I  had  given  him  something  to  play  with. 
The  evening  always  ended  with  Mr.  Lessing  at 
the  large  pipe  organ  which  he  operates  mechani- 
cally. It  is  installed  in  the  living-room  of  the 
bungalow  that  he  had  built  for  his  wife's  use  ex- 
clusively. It  was  placed  close  to  the  "big  house," 
as  they  call  the  rambling  home  he  bought  when 
he  came  here  years  ago.  The  bungalow  has  the 

l39l 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

advantage  of  having  their  sleeping  and  living 
quarters  all  on  one  floor,  so  that  Mrs.  Lessing  can 
entertain  her  few  chosen  friends  from  her  wheeled 
chair.  Emily  runs  down  often,  but  they  are  alone 
most  of  the  time.  The  other  daughters,  Ruth  and 
Mrs.  Long,  spend  most  of  their  time  in  their 
studios  in  New  York. 

I  have  not  seen  much  of  the  family  for  many 
years.  Emily  Reeves  and  I  were  in  the  same  set 
shortly  after  we  both  were  married,  but  we  drifted 
apart,  I  to  go  to  Chicago  with  Gordon  when  he 
started  on  his  third  venture  that  ended  as  all  his 
others  had,  in  failure,  and  she  to  come  West  to 
try  ranching.  I  don't  know  if  Reeves  is  inde- 
pendently successful.  I  hope  he  is,  for  he  really 
is  capable,  but  he  is  not  of  the  same  strenuous 
type  that  characterizes  the  Lessings.  He  really  has 
a  rather  hard  time  of  it  among  them  I  think,  for 
Lessing  has  but  one  standard  by  which  he  judges 
men,  unqualified  success,  and  measured  by  his  own 
results,  Reeves  or  any  other  man  would  suffer 
by  comparison. 

We  have  some  rather  amusing  scenes  which, 
while  threatening  our  mutual  interests  in  the 
Home,  usually  end  in  a  better  understanding.  As 
Mrs.  Lessing  said  one  night  when  she  followed  our 
arguments  that  waxed  warmer  with  every  word, 

[40] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

"You  are  both  set  in  your  ideas;  Edith  feels  she  is 
right,  Henry  believes  he  is,  and  if  a  woman  really 
has  convictions  and  a  man  an  open  mind,  the  re- 
sults are  usually  in  favor  of  the  woman."  Whether 
she  is  right  or  not  we  usually  compromise 
and  are  all  the  better  friends,  and  the  Home  is 
being  managed  according  to  my  original  plans. 
I  am  perfectly  willing  to  conduct  the  financial  and 
business  end  of  it  on  the  strict  lines  Mr.  Lessing 
suggests,  but  when  it  comes  to  adjusting  the  affairs 
of  the  household,  I  will  not  brook  interference.  I 
have  a  horror  of  institutionalizing  the  atmosphere 
of  the  Home  and  will  not  sanction  rules  that  have 
this  tendency.  True,  it  is  necessary  to  have  sys- 
tem. Every  private  household  should  be  system- 
atically managed;  no  comfort  could  be  obtained 
without  a  proper  regard  for  punctuality  and  a  time 
and  place  for  all  things,  but  I  insist  upon  the  right 
of  our  members  to  the  privacy  of  their  own  rooms 
and  these  rooms  must  be  made  as  truly  homelike 
to  them  as  their  individual  tastes  and  habits  sug- 
gest. I  solve  all  petty  problems  on  the  principle 
of  the  Golden  Rule,  and  when  I  fall  back  on  that 
I  minimize  my  mistakes  for  I  won't  exact  of  others 
what  I  would  strenuously  object  to  myself  if  I 
were  in  their  place. 

Mr.  Lessing  and  I  argued  the  question  of  giving 

[41] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

our  people  certain  daily  tasks,  his  contention  being 
that  they  would  be  more  satisfied  by  being  occu- 
pied; I  agreed  to  the  extent  that  idleness  bred  dis- 
satisfaction, but  I  objected  to  the  daily  drudgery 
of  enforced  duties.  I  mean  to  bring  about  health- 
ful exercise  by  stimulating  their  interest  and  hav- 
ing all  services  rendered  voluntarily  through  sheer 
love  of  their  Home,  and  there  is  so  much  to  do 
and  so  much  space  to  do  it  in.  There  are  flower 
beds  to  make,  lawns  to  keep  beautiful,  and  all  this 
will  keep  them  busy,  and  in  this  climate  nearly 
every  one  of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days 
of  the  year  can  be  spent  outdoors.  There  will  be 
no  need  to  assign  work.  It  is  always  invitingly 
before  them,  and  as  for  asking  them  to  assist  in 
the  regular  house  or  farm  work,  that  is  not  in  the 
plan;  they  are  on  a  vacation  and  we  will  have  that 
work  done  by  younger  people.  If  an  emergency 
arises  every  one  that  is  able  will  lend  willing  hands 
to  help,  and  that  is  as  it  should  be.  Their  interest 
should  be  a  proprietary  one. 

The  co-operative  spirit  must  prevail  if  the  Home 
is  to  meet  my  expectations  and  fulfill  its  mission, 
and  considering  that  it  is  only  a  little  more  than 
a  year  since  it  was  founded  and  that  many  things 
had  to  be  adjusted,  we  have  had  but  very  little 
difficulty  in  reconciling  the  old  people  to  the 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

change  of  their  mode  of  life  and  they  are  living 
very  harmoniously  together.  Once  in  a  while  we 
are  called  upon  to  arbitrate  some  difference.  Only 
yesterday  Mrs.  McGinnis  and  old  Tom  Grant  got 
into  a  dispute  anent  the  ownership  of  a  cutting 
of  choice  Martha  Washington  geranium.  It  seems 
the  plant  was  given  by  a  kindly  neighbor  to  Mrs. 
McGinnis,  who  immediately  planted  it  in  the 
flower  bed  she  claims  as  her  own  and  it  thrives 
and  blossoms  under  her  care.  Yesterday  morning 
she  happened  to  see  what  she  thought  was  a  cut- 
ting of  her  precious  flower  adorning  the  flower 
garden  of  poor  Tom.  Well,  the  old  lady  isn't 
bigger  than  a  five-cent  piece,  but  all  there  was  of 
her  was  up  in  arms  and  what  she  didn't  say  to 
Tom  Grant  isn't  worth  recording.  Tom  stood  per- 
fectly aghast  at  her  tirade,  drawing  himself  up 
with  each  invective  the  daughter  of  Erin  hurled 
at  him.  Finally,  when  she  paused  for  breath,  he 
managed  to  say  slowly,  impressively,  witheringly, 
"Madam,  yer  a  country-woman  of  mine,  to  the 
shame  of  ould  Ireland,  and  ye  air  an  ould  woman 
so  I  can't  be  telling  ye  wot  oi'm  a  thinkin'  of  ye, 
but  I  will  say  this,  ye  are  not  telling  the  truth;  if 
ye's  a  man  oi'd  be  telling  ye,  ye' re  a  damn  lyar! 
—it  was  Mrs.  Carter  gave  me  the  bit  of  flower, 
ye  can  ask  her  yerself.  Ye  ould ould go 

l43l 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

along  wid  ye,  before  oi  lose  me  good  manners," 
and  he  stalked  into  the  house  leaving  the  culprit 
convinced  of  his  innocence  in  spite  of  herself  and 
the  evidence.  And  yet,  Jerry,  I  took  pains  to 
investigate.  Mrs.  Carter  did  not  give  him  the 
plant,  and  a  piece  had  been  broken  off  of  Mrs. 
McGinnis's  geranium.  It  was  a  delicate  situation 
to  handle;  I  did  not  want  to  betray  Tom,  for  the 
poor  fellow  loves  flowers  and  he  is  too  proud  to 
ask  for  them,  and  he  really  did  no  harm  to  Mrs. 
McGinnis's  plant  and  he  eased  his  conscience  and 
made  restitution  and  his  peace  by  sharing  a  fern 
with  his  antagonist.  So  I  pretended  I  had  not 
heard  the  controversy,  bought  them  each  some 
flowers,  and  so  peace  reigns  in  the  Irish  side  of  our 
household. 

These  little  incidents  are  only  amusing  and  really 
rather  add  some  spice  to  the  daily  life  of  the  Home. 
I  rather  felt  that  the  battle  royal  proved  that  our 
members  were  really  enjoying  the  privilege  the 
Home  affords  in  having  some  personal  interest 
worth  the  excitement  of  a  quarrel.  I  would  far 
rather  have  them  belligerent  over  flowers,  than 
nursing  rheumatism  and  a  grouch  in  their  rooms. 
The  blossoms  and  sunshine  will  turn  the  edge  of 
their  displeasure — they  are  the  Home's  flag  of 
truce. 

[44] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

The  new  wing  is  progressing  nicely.  Mr.  Less- 
ing  has  not  been  out  to  the  Home  for  several  days. 
Poor  Mrs.  Lessing  is  very  ill  indeed  and  he  realizes 
the  end  is  near.  I  dread  to  have  him  left  alone; 
strong  man  as  he  has  always  been,  he  is  patheti- 
cally dependent  on  her.  She  is  the  vital  part  of 
him.  Forty  years  is  a  long  time  to  live  together, 
the  breaking  of  the  tie  will  leave  him  stranded. 
I  know  he  would  give  every  dollar  he  possesses 
to  keep  her,  and  he  will  realize  the  utter  futility 
of  his  great  wealth  when  its  purchasing  power 
cannot  buy  the  reprieve  of  her  life.  It  has  been 
a  sad  week  for  us  all.  Captain  Lane  has  lost  his 
wife.  She  was  the  first  of  our  members  to  go,  and 
the  Captain  is  still  too  dazed  to  realize  his  loss. 
Every  one  is  very  kind  to  him,  but  he  is  not  very 
responsive.  Perhaps  time  will  heal  the  wound, 
but  one  of  the  heart-rending  things  about  age 
is  that  there  is  not  time  enough  left  to  forget  in. 
Her  death  makes  me  realize  I  will  see  many  of 
my  old  people  pass  on,  but  I  must  not  let  it  de- 
press me.  Surely  I  ought  to  be  willing  to  have 
them  come  into  their  own  when  their  time  comes 
and  be  content  to  know  they  are  safe  and  at  peace. 

Jerry,  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  have  father 
reconciled  to  me,  but  the  first  steps  toward  a 
reconciliation  must  come  from  him.  I  wrote  him 

[45] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

frequently  without  a  reply  after  Gordon  and  I 
came  West,  and  after  the  culmination  of  Gordon's 
last  escapade  I  certainly  expected  a  message  of 
sympathy  from  father,  but  not  a  word.  Poor 
mother  never  had  any  backbone  and  is  afraid  of 
him,  when  really  he  is  only  bluffing  and  in  his 
secret  heart  he  is  sorry  for  me  and  wants  me  back 
home,  but  he  would  not  acknowledge  it  for  worlds. 
Mother  writes  she  doesn't  dare  mention  my  name 
for  fear  of  a  scene,  but  old  Betty,  who  is  still  their 
general  factotum  and  who  also  writes  me,  says 
that  the  old  gentleman  never  mentions  my  name 
and  pretends  he  does  not  want  to  hear  from  me, 
but  just  the  same,  Betty  has  caught  him  reading 
the  letters  I  write  to  mother  when  she  is  not 
around  to  catch  him  at  it.  He  does  not  know  what 
I  am  doing  here.  I  purposely  have  written  nothing 
of  the  Home  to  mother;  she  is  too  foolishly  imagi- 
native; she  would  pass  sleepless  nights  imagining 
I  was  forced  to  make  a  livelihood,  and  that  there 
was  a  possibility  of  my  duties  embracing  the  mak- 
ing of  beds  and  scrubbing  floors. 

When  the  Home  is  fully  established  I'm  going 
to  issue  a  prospectus  telling  all  about  it,  and  send 
her  one.  I  can  picture  her  amazement  and  her 
pride,  if  I  succeed  in  making  it  clear  that  found- 
ing a  Home  for  the  aged  on  the  lines  I  have  begun 

[46] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

is  better  than  being  a  divorcee  on  the  ragged  edge 
of  society.  I  will  at  least  live  up  to  the  vow  "  until 
death  do  us  part,"  and  I  find  work  to  be  an  anti- 
dote for  vain  regrets  and  heartaches.  If  only  the 
work  will  be  well  done.  I  want  to  be  an  efficient 
manager;  no  half  measures  will  satisfy  me.  There 
is  so  much  to  learn,  so  much  to  be  done  before  the 
Home  will  become  the  finest  of  its  kind  in  the 
world,  and  yet  I  feel  I'll  succeed.  It  is  so  much 
needed,  just  the  place  that  we  have  here,  and  when 
the  need  is  great  and  all  is  as  it  should  be,  success 
must  crown  earnest  endeavors. 

So,  Jerry  dear,  don't  worry  about  me.  I'm 
really  and  truly  content,  my  days  filled  to  over- 
flowing, leading  a  wholesome,  useful  existence, 
finding  time  in  the  busy  hours  to  send  you  a  tele- 
pathic message  and  getting  your  answer  that  tells 
me  you  understand — and  care. 

Good  night, 

EDITH. 


[47] 


LETTER  VI 
DEAR  HIGH  CHIEF  CONFESSOR: 

YOUR  letters  are  just  as  one  would  expect 
from  you,  if  they  knew  you  as  I  do.  Only, 
Boy,  you  are  romancing  and  endowing  me 
with  attributes  I  do  not  possess.  Don't  do  it, 
Jerry  mine,  it  isn't  fair  to  put  one  on  a  pedestal 
of  your  own  making  and  expect  to  have  it  lived 
up  to.  I  truly  believe  it  is  not  from  the  faults  of 
those  we  find  wanting  that  disappointment  comes, 
but  from  our  own  misconception  of  another's  capa- 
bilities. Indeed,  I  so  thoroughly  realize  my  own 
limitations  and  know  I  am  of  this  earth  earthy 
that  I  cannot  bear  to  have  you  expect  more  of  me 
than  I  can  possibly  justify. 

Of  course  my  work  of  the  Home  is  altruistic  to 
a  certain  extent,  but  I  have  selfish  motives,  too. 
There  is  the  ambition  to  create  as  perfect  an  in- 
stitution as  thought  and  a  knowledge  of  the  need 
of  the  aged  can  suggest;  to  make  the  policy  em- 
bodied in  the  conception  of  the  Home  the  one  by 
which  other  institutions  will  be  patterned;  to  help 
teach  proper  reverence  for  self-respecting  age;  for 
age  has  its  responsibilities,  too,  and  has  no  license 

[48] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

to  disregard  them.  There  is  absolutely  no  excuse 
for  one  having  reached  or  passed  the  three-score 
and  ten  allotted  them  to  shame  their  years,  and 
the  lessons  taught  by  the  Home  of  Peace  will  work 
both  ways;  teaching  its  members  how  to  live  up 
to  the  standard  necessary  to  insure  respect,  and 
those  beyond  its  walls  to  respect  that  standard. 
So  you  see,  Jerry,  I'm  not  unselfish  in  my  motives. 
I'll  be  reaching  eligibility  for  admission  to  a  Home 
for  the  Aged  myself  some  day  and  I  want  the  right 
kind  of  place  to  be  established  before  then,  and  I 
want  to  be  fit  to  live  in  it,  too. 

We  are  making  great  strides  in  the  right  direc- 
tion and  the  greatest  help  comes  from  the  members 
themselves.  We  have  the  most  beautiful  heart-to- 
heart  talks,  my  family  and  I,  when  I  tell  them  of 
all  I  hope  to  bring  about  and  show  them  just  how 
much  they  can  do  to  help  me  succeed,  and  they  do 
respond;  even  if  they  never  realized  it  before,  my 
conception  of  the  ideal  Home  for  them  has  always 
been  theirs  and  it  is  a  joy  to  be  a  real  factor  in  its 
accomplishment.  Mr.  Lessing  overheard  me  one 
afternoon  having  my  pow-wow  with  them,  and  I 
believe  if  it  had  needed  anything  to  convince  him 
that  I  knew  my  old  people,  he  would  have  capitu- 
lated then,  for  he  afterward  remarked  I  had  no  op- 
position and  my  way  to  success  was  open  before  me. 

[49] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

As  you  saw  by  the  clipping  I  sent  you,  Mrs. 
Lessing  passed  away.  My  heart  bleeds  for  him 
in  his  loneliness.  All  his  children  were  here  when 
the  end  came,  but  have  since  gone  back  to  their 
several  homes.  Only  Emily  Reeves  will  remain 
with  her  father.  I  believe  she  will  make  her  home 
here  now  to  be  near  him;  I  hope  she  will  for  he 
needs  her.  He  came  out  to  the  Home  with  me  yes- 
terday and  the  members  vied  with  each  other  in 
being  kind  to  him.  He  seemed  to  appreciate  that 
they  all  understood  what  his  loss  meant  to  him; 
besides  to  them  he  is  not  the  arrogant  man  of 
money  the  world  knows,  but  just  a  friend  who 
sorely  needed  the  sympathy  they  so  lavishly  be- 
stowed. As  we  were  leaving  he  turned  to  me  and 
said,  "Edith,  how  could  you  anticipate  the  lone- 
liness of  age?  I  never  understood  it  until  now  and 
I  am  so  much  older  than  you.  Go  on  with  your 
work,  fill  the  Home  with  lonely  old  people,  they 
need  each  other."  And  so  they  do,  Jerry,  they 
need  companionship  as  they  need  food  and  sleep 
to  survive.  There  are  other  things  that  can  make 
the  shady  side  of  life  not  only  bearable  but  pleas- 
ant, but  I  believe  the  greatest  satisfaction  is 
gained  by  knowing  one  is  an  integral  part  of  a 
community. 

Unfortunately  we  are  crowded  from  the  high- 

[50] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

ways  of  life  too  soon  by  the  competition  of  youth, 
long  before  we  feel  ready  for  retirement,  and  it  is 
not  possible  to  close  our  lives  like  a  book,  or  to 
step  immediately  into  another  world  where  interest 
ceases.  It  takes  years  of  readjustment  to  fit  into 
the  new  order  of  things,  and  to  realize  that  growing 
old  gracefully  is  a  real  job,  the  mastery  of  which 
can  keep  one  pretty  well  occupied. 

I  am  hoping  to  have  the  new  wing  completed 
in  less  then  two  months.  We  will  then  have  a 
dedication  and  invite  the  whole  town  to  it.  The 
members  are  making  plans  for  the  big  event. 
Those  who  can  sew  are  remodeling  gowns  for  the 
occasion,  and  Captain  Prime  is  composing  a  poem. 
I  wish  you  could  be  persuaded  to  leave  your  musty 
law  office  and  be  present.  Really  I  think  you 
should  arrange  to  come.  I'll  promise  to  get  a 
chaperon  so  you  can  stop  at  my  bungalow,  and 
I'll  not  keep  you  awake  half  the  night  talking 
about  the  Home,  although  I  may  want  to.  I  have 
no  other  inducement  except  that  I  can  take  you 
motoring,  show  you  the  Missions  and  tell  you  their 
histories,  and  give  you  glimpses  of  this  God's 
country  that  will  make  you  take  long  breaths  of 
ecstatic  delight.  You  are  such  a  lover  of  nature 
that  I  long  to  show  you  how  prolific  she  has  been 
in  this  Golden  West,  scattering  beauty  every- 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

where.  I  believe  you  are  afraid  of  the  possible  lure 
of  the  West.  Fear  you  might  be  induced  to  come 
here  to  live — and  why  not?  You  have  no  one  to 
keep  you  in  St.  Louis,  and  you  have  piled  up  a 
big  enough  fortune  for  your  needs,  and  I  am  sure 
you  will  never  marry  (more's  the  pity),  so  what 
is  to  hinder  you  from  coming  to  California  and  to 
me?  Think  it  over  Jerry  dear;  I  can't  think  of  a 
thing  against  the  plan  and  a  hundred  in  its  favor, 
and  I  want  you. 

Yours, 

EDITH. 


LETTER  VII 
DEAR  JERRY: 

I  CAN'T  imagine  what  I've  said  in  my  last 
letter  to  cause  the  tone  in  your  reply.  You 
see  I  know  you  so  well  that  even  in  written 
phrases  I  can  detect  an  off-key.  I  did  not  know 
you  would  be  touchy  on  the  subject  of  marriage 
and  I  believe  I  am  glad  to  know  you  have  not  de- 
cided against  it.  You  would  be  a  model  husband, 
Jerry,  and  oh,  such  a  discriminating  father,  and 
you  surely  deserve  happiness,  but  you  have  passed 
the  susceptible  age.  I've  never  known  you  to  be 
in  love,  and  you  remember  you  told  me  when  I 
announced  my  engagement  to  Gordon  that  you 
never  intended  to  follow  in  my  footsteps.  I  know 
you  were  anxious  about  my  chances  with  Gordon 
and  that  may  have  prompted  the  bitterness  in 
your  tone,  but  I  know  that  although  I  could  think 
of  nothing  else  but  him  at  that  time  your  word 
sounded  final  to  me,  and  I  have  never  thought  of 
you  as  anything  but  a  confirmed  bachelor.  Be- 
sides you  have  always  been  my  chum  and  we 
seemed  to  hit  it  off  so  well  together  I  never  gave 
a  thought  to  another  woman,  so  that  the  realiza- 

[531 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

tion  of  your  possible  marriage  comes  as  a  shock 
and  I  can't  get  used  to  the  idea.  Will  you  tell  me 
if  you  have  made  a  choice?  If  I  know — it  will 
help  me  get  used  to  the  fact  of  no  longer  having 
you  to  come  to,  for  of  course  no  woman  would 
tolerate  our  intimacy,  and  I  could  not  share  my 
confidences  with  her.  I  am  rather  depressed  today 
and  not  up  to  writing,  but  I  want  to  assure  you 
I  am  glad  if  you  are  to  find  real  happiness,  and  I 
shall  love  the  lucky  girl  no  matter  who  she  is,  for 
your  dear  sake. 

The  weather  is  beautiful,  it  is  spring  here.  The 
early  roses  are  in  bloom,  and  the  breeze  from  the 
Bay  stirs  the  blood.  I  am  going  to  motor  out  to 
the  back  country  by  myself,  follow  a  trail  that 
leads  up  the  mountain  and  have  it  out  with  my- 
self. I've  got  the  "blue  devils"  and  I  am  going  to 
get  rid  of  them  in  an  environment  too  majesti- 
cally beautiful  to  admit  of  bad  humor,  and  come 
back  ready  to  take  up  my  work  with  a  clear  brain 
and  cheerful  exterior. 

Sincerely  your  friend, 

EDITH. 


54] 


LETTER  VIII 
MY  DEAR  JERRY: 

il  M  SO  glad  to  get  your  long,  talky,  cheer- 
/-\  fully  serene  letter,  and  I  am  inconsistently 
and  selfishly  rejoicing  there  is  no  imme- 
diate prospect  of  your  marrying.  I  won't  antici- 
pate the  loneliness  that  will  come  to  me  when 
some  woman  can  claim  your  every  thought  and 
censor  your  friendship.  As  usual  I  take  more 
than  I  can  give  in  benefits;  your  sympathy  and 
your  faith  in  me  have  been  a  mighty  prop  that  has 
sustained  me,  even  when  hundreds  of  miles  separ- 
ated us.  Ours  has  been  a  wonderful  friendship; 
nothing  you  could  do  would  make  me  doubt  its 
disinterestedness  and  only  your  marriage  can  ever 
again  cause  a  break  in  it,  and  yet  I  realize  I  should 
have  rejoiced  at  the  possibility  of  you  finding  your 
mate.  You  have  always  loved  a  home  and  revered 
woman  in  spite  of  your  knowledge  of  them,  and  I 
tried  hard  to  believe  I  would  be  glad  for  your  sake, 
but  I  wasn't.  I  was  very  miserable,  and  try  as  I 
would  I  could  not  reconcile  myself  to  believing 
you  would  some  day  cease  to  be  Jerry,  my  one 
friend.  I  could  put  but  one  construction  on  the 

[55] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

sentence  in  your  previous  letter  which  said,  "Why 
will  you  persist  in  condemning  me  to  the  inevitable 
state  of  confirmed  bachelorhood,  believe  me  I  have 
hope  for  a  happier  fate."  I  had  but  one  thought 
when  I  read  that;  you  had,  as  I  should  have  fore- 
seen, at  last  capitulated  to  the  one  woman.  How- 
ever, if  you  have  not  yet  found  her,  "  sufficient  unto 
the  day  be  the  evil  thereof";  I  will  at  least  enjoy, 
as  long  as  I  will  be  allowed,  having  you  for  my 
own  dear  friend,  as  you  have  always  been  ever 
since  I  can  remember. 

I  have  been  very  busy,  the  new  wing  is  nearing 
completion  and  Mr.  Lessing  and  I  are  selecting 
the  furnishings.  The  plans  for  the  dedication  are 
well  along;  Mrs.  Carter  and  Elinor  Ely  have  a  fine 
program  arranged  and  I  believe  the  occasion  will 
be  of  more  than  ordinary  interest  locally,  for  the 
gift  of  Mr.  Lessing  to  the  institution  of  the  Home 
site  and  the  building  of  the  addition  has  been 
exploited  and  Mr.  Lessing's  identity  established, 
and  as  the  Home  is  the  third  institution  of  its  kind 
to  be  attempted  here,  and  the  only  one  that  sur- 
vived the  first  year  of  existence,  the  curiosity  of 
the  public  is  aroused  and  will  no  doubt  be  mani- 
fested by  a  large  attendance  on  the  day  of  the 
formal  opening  of  the  Home  under  the  auspices  of 
a  qualified  Board  of  Directors. 

[56] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Mr.  Lessing's  interest  in  the  progress  of  the 
Home  and  in  the  details  of  its  management  is 
proving  a  balm  in  his  bereavement.  He  forgets 
himself  and  his  grief  in  our  heated  differences, 
and  his  temper  often  has  full  play  at  my  opposi- 
tion to  some  of  his  views.  Several  times  I  have 
felt  that  it  was  a  question  of  sacrificing  the  vital 
principles  on  which  I  aimed  to  establish  the  Home, 
and  rather  than  do  that  I  preferred  to  withdraw 
and  let  Mr.  Lessing  and  his  money  prevail,  and 
discharged  myself  accordingly,  but  my  resigna- 
tion was  never  accepted  and  our  disagreements 
never  crystalized  into  an  open  rupture.  We  are 
both  really  too  deeply  concerned  in  the  welfare 
of  our  creation  to  be  seriously  antagonistic,  and  I 
believe  Mr.  Lessing  is  as  undemonstratively  fond 
of  me  as  I  am  of  him.  I  somehow  understand  him 
thoroughly;  know  just  how  to  discount  his  bull- 
dozing tactics  and  never  lose  sight  of  the  fine  big- 
ness of  the  real  man;  and  on  the  other  hand  he  has 
faith  in  me.  He  may  question  my  judgment  but 
he  never  doubts  my  motives,  and  respects  my 
earnestness. 

We  have  the  same  object  in  mind,  the  same 
enthusiasm,  an  unlimited  capacity  for  work  and 
the  courage  of  our  convictions,  so  we  help  each 
other  and  find  a  great  joy  in  the  work  we  are 

[57] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

doing.  I  do  not  believe  his  family  share  his 
interest  in  the  Home.  It  is  not  surprising  that 
they  do  not.  They  all  have  their  own  pet  chari- 
ties and  fads,  and  I  doubt  if  they  know  how  keen 
their  father's  interest  is.  The  sons  visited  the 
Home  when  they  were  in  the  city  at  the  time  of 
their  mother's  death,  but  all  they  could  see  was 
only  the  nucleus  of  the  proposition,  and  without 
the  vision  of  greater  possibilities  it  was  not  much 
to  enthuse  over,  yet  I  felt  Mr.  Lessing's  disap- 
pointment and  appreciated  his  resentment  at  their 
cold  appraisement  which  was  unconsciously  and 
unnecessarily  harsh.  Yet  neither  of  the  younger 
men  is  unsympathetic;  they  simply  did  not  know 
how  much  of  their  father  had  gone  into  this  little 
section  of  land  on  which  he  had  placed  the  corner- 
stone of  an  institution,  the  need  of  which  he,  by 
the  virtue  of  his  many  years,  knew  more  of  than 
they. 

It  was  his  second  daughter,  Mrs.  Long,  who 
won  my  heart  by  her  keen  appreciation  of  the 
possibilities  of  the  Home,  and  I  found  myself  tell- 
ing her  all  about  its  inception  and  of  its  coming 
greatness,  and  I  believe  she  sees  it  as  we  do,  so 
we  have  the  advantage  of  one  more  friendly  influ- 
ence, which  is  another  asset,  for  in  work  of  this 
kind  there  is  more  or  less  adverse  criticism  that 

[58] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

has  a  psychical  effect  that  can  be  felt  and  is  hard 
to  overcome.  I  try  to  guard  against  this  insidious 
influence  entering  the  Home,  and  try,  by  sugges- 
tion, to  keep  the  thoughts  of  my  charges  har- 
monious. 

Mr.  Lessing  said  today  he  thought  the  time  had 
come  to  endow  the  Home,  and  reminded  me  I 
still  had  much  to  do  to  firmly  establish  and  incul- 
cate into  the  atmosphere  of  the  Home  the  prin- 
ciples on  which  it  was  founded  and  in  which  he 
now  fully  concurred,  and  as  we  are  managing  the 
Home  on  lines  differing  radically  from  the  methods 
adopted  by  other  beneficiary  organizations,  and 
which  were  largely  experimental,  I  had  taken  upon 
myself  years  of  labor  that  might  try  my  patience 
to  its  utmost  limit,  and  perhaps  end  in  heart- 
breaking disappointment.  Of  course  he  could  not 
discourage  me  and  I  renewed  my  promise  to  see 
the  proposition  through,  and  have  now  committed 
myself  indefinitely  to  a  real  job — one  in  which  I 
will  keep  a  strict  account  of  myself,  exacting  the 
best  there  is  in  me  and  fulfilling  my  pledge  to 
age,  to  give  it  the  deserved  recognized  place 
in  the  problems  of  life,  a  place  worthy  of  well-spent 
years.  We  shook  hands  on  that  promise  and  on 
his  to  endow  the  Home.  We  were  on  our  way 
from  View  Dale  in  my  motor.  I  drove  him  home 

[59] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

and  as  he  bade  me  good-by  (he  is  going  up  to  Los 
Angeles  tomorrow  for  a  few  days)  he  smiled  con- 
tentedly, almost  happily.  As  for  myself  I  ought 
to  be  supremely  satisfied.  In  so  much  less  time 
than  I  counted  on  when  I  began  the  work,  its 
future  is  assured  and  yet  I  cannot  shake  a  feeling 
of  depression,  I  suppose  it  is  because  I  am  tired; 
at  any  rate  I  won't  pass  my  bad  humor  to  you  but 
bring  this  letter  to  a  close. 

Mother  writes  all  is  well  with  them  at  home. 
She  is  hoping  I  am  having  a  pleasant  time  and 
wants  to  know  if  there  is  real  society  here — dear 
mother! — what  would  she  say  to  my  daily  inter- 
course with  Duchess  Matson,  Czarina  Riddle  and 
Sir  Tom  Grant? 

Yours, 

EDITH. 


[60] 


LETTER  IX 
DEAR  JERRY: 

YOUR  telegrams  and  letters  of  sympathy 
were  duly  received.  I  wondered  how  you 
had  learned  so  quickly  of  Mr.  Lessing's 
sudden  death  in  Los  Angeles,  until  I  surmised  the 
news  reached  you  through  the  newspapers.  I  can- 
not tell  you  all  his  death  means  to  me.  I  hardly 
realize  its  full  significance  as  yet.  It  was  so  sudden 
I  was  wholly  unprepared  for  it,  unless  the  feeling 
of  depression  when  I  last  saw  him  was  the  sensing 
of  the  great  shadow  hovering  over  him.  I  shall  miss 
him  sorely.  Our  friendship  was  very  real,  in  spite 
of  the  disparity  in  our  years;  some  quality  in  our 
natures  made  us  very  congenial  and  we  had  a  com- 
mon, absorbing  interest  in  our  Home  of  Peace. 

I  saw  him  daily  for  months,  felt  his  great  personal 
force  that  kept  pace  with  my  own  enthusiastic 
energy.  I  never  was  deceived  by  the  almost  brutal 
bluntness  of  his  manner  that  at  times  made  him  ap- 
pear hard  and  unsympathetic,  for  I  had  seen  too 
often  beneath  the  surface  and  knew  him  for  the 
kindly,  sentimental  man  he  really  was.  I  was  too 
dazed  at  first  to  give  thought  to  the  effect  his  death 

[61] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

would  have  on  the  Home.  I  only  felt  the  loss  to 
myself.  He  stood  for  so  much  in  my  life  here,  the 
one  link  to  the  past,  remote  as  that  connection  had 
been  in  the  years  before  the  ship-wreck  of  my  life. 
He  represented  an  element  that  promised  a  foun- 
dation of  a  new  existence,  a  stepping-stone  to  my 
own  development,  not  by  material  assistance,  but 
by  encouraging,  through  his  faith  in  me,  a  belief  in 
myself.  I  did  not  realize  how  much  I  depended  up- 
on him  to  stiffen  my  back-bone,  for  indeed  I  was 
more  sensitive  of  criticism  than  I  let  on.  He  liter- 
ally blazed  a  trail  on  which  my  reputation  was 
established,  not  socially,  but  in  business  circles,  for 
I  had  no  time  for  society  but  needed  the  endorse- 
ment of  the  latter  to  succeed  in  my  work. 

Not  until  after  his  funeral  did  I  realize  how  great 
a  loss  Mr.  Lessing's  death  would  be  to  the  old  peo- 
ples' Home.  It  came  to  me  suddenly  that  the  whole 
responsibility  of  a  successful  issue  of  the  enterprise 
now  rested  upon  me.  The  addition  was  almost  but 
not  quite  completed;  the  furnishings  had  been  or- 
dered but  not  paid  for.  Mr.  Lessing  had  intended 
to  provide  for  the  future  of  the  institution,  but  his 
sudden  passing  had  prevented  this  accomplishment. 
His  children's  interests  were  elsewhere.  I  doubted  if 
they  realized  how  far  he  had  committed  himself  to 
help  me  and  to  what  extent  he  had  obligated  me  in 

[62] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

authorizing  a  more  rapid  progress  than  the  actual 
capital  of  the  Home  warranted  without  his  intended 
support.  There  was  not  a  written  line  that  could 
give  me  a  legal  right  to  ask  his  heirs  to  ratify  his 
promises.  I  felt  I  could  not  ask  them  on  so  slender 
a  claim  as  my  representation  of  facts  based  only  up- 
on unsupported  verbal  understanding,  and  I  also 
realized  my  personal  resources  would  be  strained 
to  the  limit  if  I  were  compelled  to  assume  the  pay- 
ment of  the  cost  of  the  improvements  made  in  the 
name  of  the  Home  by  Mr.  Lessing,  and  with  Gordon 
to  provide  for,  the  situation  was  embarrassing. 

I  spent  several  miserable  days  worrying  over  the 
situation  and  planning  ways  and  means  to  pay 
every  bill,  for  I  meant  to  go  on,  when  I  was  un- 
expectedly called  into  a  consultation  with  the 
Lessings,  and,  Jerry,  they  have  acted  as  Henry 
Lessing's  children  would  naturally  act.  I  need  not 
have  worried  as  I  did;  they  never  disputed  my 
statement  regarding  the  bills  encumbered  in  the 
building  of  the  new  wing,  but  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  tell  them  of  his  promise  to  endow  the 
Home,  and  without  hesitation  they  have  agreed  to 
provide  the  means  for  the  completion  and  furnish- 
ing of  the  new  building.  They  are  a  wonderful 
family,  of  a  dominant,  aggressive  type  both  physi- 
cally and  mentally,  very  much  alike  in  essential 

[63] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

characteristics,  but  differing  vastly  individually; 
each  has  his  own  decided  viewpoint,  and  feels  his 
convictions  strongly.  I  was  very  much  impressed  as 
I  saw  them  together  at  that  conference,  and  could 
not  help  but  wonder  how  that  great  collective 
physical  force  would  be  expended,  for  they  repre- 
sented power,  not  only  by  their  individual  physical 
and  mental  strength  but  by  the  wealth  that  they 
would  control,  and  I  believe  because  they  come  of 
wholesome,  clean  stock,  they  will  spend  their  lives 
and  money  to  good  purposes  and  the  world  will 
be  all  the  better  for  their  having  lived  in  it. 

It  seems  strange,  Jerry,  but  I  seem  to  know 
them  so  much  better  than  they  know  me;  I  suppose 
it  is  because  Mr.  Lessing  spoke  so  freely  of  them 
and  because  I  have  so  much  imagination.  I  would 
like  to  believe  it  was  insight,  but  I  have  always 
made  my  deductions  from  impressions,  rather  than 
through  analytical  process,  and  my  likes  and  dis- 
likes are  strictly  instinctive,  so  that  I  feel  I  am 
right  in  my  opinion  of  the  Lessing  family,  and  that 
I  will  always  have  them  as  my  friends.  It  makes 
me  feel  less  exiled,  for  I  have  long  since  realized 
that  there  is  nothing  so  scarce  as  real  friendship, 
and  nothing  more  worth  while.  We  shall  finish  the 
new  addition  and  have  it  dedicated  on  the  day 
originally  set  for  the  ceremony.  I  shall  be  very 

[64] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

busy  until  it  is  all  over  with,  and  the  members  ' 
duly  installed  in  their  new  quarters,  so  I  do  not 
believe  I  will  find  the  time  to  write  you  in  the  mean- 
time, but  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  in  my  next. 

You  must  not  worry  about  me,  you  know  I'm 
used  to  being  slapped  by  Fate  just  when  I  begin 
to  believe  life  has  compensations  and  reach  out  to 
enjoy  it;  perhaps  it  is  to  make  me  less  egotistical 
and  to  teach  me  my  proper  place.  I  always  want 
to  reach  goals  in  a  leap  and  bound,  and  I  suppose 
I  am  to  be  taught  to  watch  my  steps  and  to  reach 
the  heights  in  a  chastened  spirit.  However,  it  is 
evident  that  my  future  efforts  in  behalf  of  my 
old  peoples'  Home  will  have  to  be  on  conservative 
lines  calling  for  close  attention  to  practical  details 
and  an  exercise  of  such  business  ability  as  I  may 
possess,  for  I  am  determined  to  go  on  with  my 
original  plans  for  the  Home  of  Peace;  I  shall  have 
the  incentive  of  the  memory  of  Mr.  Lessing's  faith 
in  it  and  in  my  success,  to  sustain  me  even  if  I  am 
deprived  of  his  support,  so  I  will  go  on  where  he 
left  off.  Somehow,  somewhere,  help  in  the  work 
will  come  to  me.  It  is  too  big  a  thing  to  abandon. 
The  plan  is  already  in  the  bud.  Some  day,  Jerry, 
you  will  see  it  in  full  flower. 

Yours, 

EDITH. 

[65] 


LETTER  X 
DEAR  JERRY: 

THIS  is  my  first  opportunity  to  write  you 
at  length.  The  only  recreation  I  have  had 
these  six  weeks  .has  been  reading  your 
letters.  You  are  very  clairvoyant,  for  nothing  else 
could  keep  you  so  closely  in  touch  with  my  every- 
day life.  My  letter-grams  necessarily  could  not 
tell  you  much,  but  I  felt  I  owed  you  some  recog- 
nition for  your  interest  in  me,  and  to  allay  your 
fears  regarding  my  health,  so  wired  you  accord- 
ingly. It  was  dear  of  you  to  send  me  that  check 
for  our  maintenance  fund,  for  indeed  we  shall  need 
it.  I  am  hoping  the  interest  that  the  dedication 
has  aroused  will  continue  to  find  expression  in 
showering  checks  into  our  treasury;  at  any  rate 
our  subscription  list  has  been  augmented  by  some 
prominent  names,  and  for  the  time  at  least  there 
is  no  immediate  need  for  anxiety  as  to  ways  and 
means  to  carry  on  the  work.  If  I  can  get  the 
public,  or  just  a  number  of  individuals,  to  get  the 
keynote  of  our  Home  for  the  Aged  as  Mr.  Lessing 
did,  my  work  would  be  half  done.  The  public  has 
but  one  general  conception  of  philanthropic  insti- 

[66] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

tutions,  and  if  they  give  it  any  thought  at  all,  it 
is  to  believe  if  a  roof  and  three  meals  and  general 
physical  necessities  are  provided  nothing  more  is 
required,  while  I  am  aiming  deeper  and  look  upon 
these  necessities  as  not  requiring  more  than  an 
ordinary  knowledge  of  housekeeping  on  a  larger 
scale.  It  is  no  great  accomplishment  to  do  this; 
it  has  been  done  for  ages,  every  city  of  any  size 
has  its  home  for  aged  and  has  been  proportion- 
ately proud  of  this  accessory  as  the  pretentious- 
ness of  their  buildings  justified. 

What  I  want  to  do  is  to  make  age  recognized,  to 
train  for  it  as  it  were.  It  is  so  inevitable!  If  it 
does  not  come  in  ten  years  it  comes  in  twenty  and 
then  alas,  how  many  are  prepared  for  it?  Even 
with  means  to  provide  the  necessities  of  life,  other 
things  are  lacking.  In  the  very  nature  of  things 
age  has  few  friends  and  fewer  interests,  unless  one 
wisely  keeps  apace  with  the  times;  and  lacking 
these  essentials  to  contentment  one  is  generally 
out  of  tune  with  the  Universe,  with  only  a  hope- 
less, dreary  prospect  of  the  last  lap  to  the  grave. 
Jerry,  dear,  it  is  all  so  unnecessary — this  pre- 
conceived idea  of  the  last  years  of  well-spent  lives. 
Age  is,  after  all,  a  state  of  mind;  we  are  just  as  old 
as  we  feel;  the  natural  infirmities  of  age  are  largely 
exaggerated  by  admitting  them,  and  as  long  as 

[67] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

there  is  a  breath  in  our  bodies,  we  are  meant  to 
enjoy  the  gifts  of  the  gods;  but  we  must  learn  that 
the  flowers  are  just  as  sweet,  the  sunshine  as 
bright  and  the  world  as  good  at  eighty  as  it  was  at 
eighteen;  we  only  need  to  see  it,  to  open  our  eyes, 
not  to  close  them,  to  be  willing  to  receive  and  to 
give  good  cheer  and  come  to  the  great  finale  with 
a  smile  in  our  hearts,  having  earned  what  lies 
beyond. 

This  Home  of  Peace  of  mine — it  sounds  ego- 
tistical to  call  it  mine,  when  it  takes  the  money 
of  others  as  well  as  all  I  can  give  to  sustain  it,  but 
it  is  mine  in  more  than  one  sense — has  become  a 
part  of  myself.  It  is  like  a  growing  child  to  me, 
needing  my  every  thought,  my  watchful  care;  and 
its  atmosphere  is  beginning  to  reflect  something 
of  the  spirit  of  my  endeavor.  Of  course  it  is  not 
always  clear  sailing;  it  is  too  human  and  too  new 
not  to  come  against  snags,  and  we  have  contro- 
versies that  threaten  to  become  pitched  battles 
before  I  adjust  the  difficulty;  and  it  is  here  I  learn 
my  daily  lessons,  lessons  that  are  essential  to  the 
government  of  an  institution  rilled  with  the  evolu- 
tions of  life-time  habits,  temperaments  and  con- 
victions into  peaceful  intelligent  co-operation  in  a 
common  interest. 

As  I  prophesied,  the  dedication  was  a  great  sue- 

[68] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

cess.  The  exercises  were  held  in  the  beautiful  new 
dining-room.  A  raised  dais  was  erected  in  one 
corner  on  which  the  directors  and  speakers  sat, 
and  below  this  we  stationed  the  musicians.  Mr. 
Lessing's  vacant  chair  stood  in  its  place  in  the 
circle  which  seated  the  directors;  we  decorated  it 
with  flowers  and  I  felt  he  was  sitting  in  it  and 
sensed  the  influence  of  his  presence.  I  could 
hardly  keep  from  weeping  when  the  speaker  spoke 
of  him  and  of  his  loss  to  the  Home  as  its  greatest 
benefactor,  for  well  chosen  as  his  words  were,  he 
could  not  know  how  great  and  deep  Henry  Less- 
ing's  interest  was,  and  what  a  legacy  of  faith  in 
it  he  had  left  to  me  to  fulfill.  I  looked  at  the  dif- 
ferent directors  whom  he  had  appointed,  and  real- 
ized that  none  of  them  comprehended  fully  the 
motive  of  the  work  they  had  committed  them- 
selves to.  Judge  Goodridge  is  a  natural  humani- 
tarian; his  is  a  gentle  nature,  his  mind  trained  in 
the  grooves  of  judiciary,  and  yet  I  suspect  he  is 
an  idealist.  I  do  not  know  him  very  well.  There 
have  been  but  few  stated  official  meetings  of  the 
Board  of  Directors  and  these  have  been  strictly 
of  a  business  nature,  the  Judge  assuming,  by  virtue 
of  his  profession  as  attorney,  the  responsibility  of 
launching  the  Home  with  legal  propriety.  He  has 
accepted  me  on  Mr.  Lessing's  endorsement,  and  if 

[69] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

he  has  any  doubts  of  my  ability  to  fill  the  position 
of  Managing  Director,  he  is  too  just  to  express 
them  until  I  have  been  given  time  to  prove  myself. 
I  shall  like  him  I  know,  and  if  he  will  find  time  in 
his  busy  routine  of  professional  duties  to  see  be- 
neath the  surface  of  my  ambition,  and  learns  to 
just  what  end  Mr.  Lessing  and  I  aspired,  he  will 
become  my  warmest  advocate  and  in  a  large  meas- 
ure take  Mr.  Lessing's  place  in  helping  me  to 
materialize  my  dreams. 

The  other  director,  Mr.  J.  Scott,  is  a  keen 
business  man.  His  presence  on  the  Board  was 
simply  in  compliment  to  Mr.  Lessing's  urgent  re- 
quest. He  looks  upon  the  Home  in  the  light  of  an 
acceptable  charity,  an  additional  but  justifiable 
drain  on  the  purses  of  the  charitably  inclined,  and 
no  doubt  frankly  questions  my  motives  in  foster- 
ing it.  However,  I  believe  he  can  be  won  over,  if 
my  accounts  prove  correct  in  the  monthly  trial 
balance  and  if  I  keep  the  Home  out  of  the  re- 
ceiver's hands  or  courts  of  law. 

Mr.  Colburn  is  the  new  man  on  the  Board,  tak- 
ing the  place  of  the  banker  who  resigned  in  high 
dudgeon  when  Mr.  Lessing,  shortly  before  his 
death,  tried,  in  his  high-handed  way,  to  force  a 
generous  subscription  from  him  as  an  earnest  of 
his  interest  in  the  Home. 

[70] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Mr.  Colburn  is  undoubtedly  bored  with  his  re- 
sponsibilities as  a  director;  perfectly  willing  to  give 
me  free  rein  and  will  only  be  in  evidence  at  the 
regular  monthly  meetings,  if  he  can't  get  out  of 
coming,  and  I'll  wager  will  resign  just  as  soon  as 
he  decently  can. 

While  the  orchestra  filled  the  room  with  music, 
my  eyes  wandered  over  the  audience.  Every  walk 
in  life  was  represented,  and  all  ages.  I  wondered 
how  much  all  this  ceremony  meant  to  them;  if 
any  one  there  had  caught  the  full  significance  of 
the  place,  if  they  realized  that  on  these  premises 
countless  souls  would  pause  for  a  fleeting  time  be- 
fore passing  on  to  the  Great  Beyond,  and  as  I 
wondered  it  came  my  time  to  speak.  I  rose  in  a 
kind  of  dream.  From  where  I  stood  I  could  just 
touch  the  arm  of  Mr.  Lessing's  empty,  decorated 
chair.  I  had  given  the  speech  I  was  to  make  con- 
siderable thought,  yet  when  I  faced  that  sea  of 
faces  I  did  not  remember  a  word  of  it.  I  stood  a 
moment  quite  still,  my  eyes  resting  on  the  rows  of 
chairs  nearest  the  speakers  which  were  filled  with 
my  old  people.  I  saw  Captain  Prime,  his  sharp 
eyes  alight  with  understanding;  saw  the  pathetic 
listlessness  of  Captain  Lane,  and  the  intent,  loving 
expectation  of  them  all.  Slowly  the  words  came; 
I  spoke  to  my  old  people  only  of  what  lay  in  my 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

heart  for  them,  and  as  I  talked  I  felt  the  thrill  of 
knowing  I  had  struck  a  chord  in  their  own  souls. 
I  can't  recall  what  I  said,  Jerry,  but  whatever  it 
was,  it  came  from  the  deepest  recess  of  my  love 
for  them,  and  they  responded,  understood.  They 
saw  the  Home  as  I  did  and  I  knew  from  then  on 
they  would  all  do  their  share.  When  I  ceased 
there  was  not  a  dry  eye  among  them  and  their 
faces  were  illuminated  with  the  radiance  of  a  pur- 
pose. I  had  given  them  a  place  in  the  big  work 
before  me,  something  for  them  to  achieve  and  I 
felt  in  turn  I  had  divided  my  burden  and  lightened 
the  load. 

It  was  my  first  public  appearance.  I  do  not 
know  what  the  consensus  of  opinion  is,  but  if  the 
nice  things  that  were  said  are  to  be  relied  on  I 
have  made  a  good  impression,  which  I  value  as 
an  asset  to  the  Home,  for  the  Home  will  be  largely 
dependent  on  the  opinion  of  the  public,  and  I  no 
longer  have  Henry  Lessing  to  endorse  me,  and 
after  all,  I  am  only  a  woman,  not  even  having  the 
advantage  of  having  lived  here  any  length  of  time. 
Besides,  I  have  a  past  and  a  questionable  present 
in  Gordon,  and  I  have  an  unfortunate  trait  in 
being  conspicuously  indifferent  to  social  appraise- 
ment, and  society  likes  to  have  the  privilege  of 
passing  on  one's  eligibility  to  its  charmed  circle 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

and  resents  being  denied  its  prerogatives,  so  that  if 
this  embryonic,  great  city  will  take  my  philan- 
thropy seriously  I  will  be  grateful,  as  the  Home, 
until  it  is  endowed,  can  only  prosper  by  the  good 
will  and  esteem  of  its  so-called  best  people,  and 
to  a  certain  extent  the  opinion  of  me  will  influence 
the  standing  of  the  Home. 

I  was  glad  when  the  dedication  was  over  and 
the  routine  of  our  daily  lives  could  be  followed, 
and  I  can  now  take  stock  of  my  needs  and  re- 
sources and  plan  accordingly. 

This  is  the  longest  letter  I  have  yet  written, 
Jerry,  and  unless  you  are  really  deeply  interested 
you  will  be  bored  to  death,  but  writing  to  you  is 
the  only  personal  indulgence  I  have.  I  must  have 
an  outlet  to  my  thoughts  and  you  are  always 
a  kindly,  receptive  medium.  What  a  help  you 
would  be  to  me!  What  worlds  we  would  conquer 
between  us!  Yet  I'm  afraid  the  only  things  I  wish 
to  vanquish  at  present  are  the  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  my  success — even  Gordon  has  ceased  to  be 
a  heavy,  depressing  encumbrance.  I  don't  cease  to 
think  of  him;  I  couldn't  do  that,  but  I  no  longer 
feel  that  the  end  of  all  things  has  come,  for  now 
my  first  waking  thought  is  the  work  of  the  day 
before  me,  and  an  added  incentive  is  the  con- 
sciousness of  pleasure  it  gives  me  to  tell  you  all 

[73] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

about  it.  So  with  the  blessed  Home  to  work  for, 
and  you  to  turn  to  when  the  day's  work  is  done, 
my  life  is  full  indeed. 

Yours, 

EDITH. 


74 


LETTER  XI 
DEAREST  JERRY: 

I  COULD  almost  detect  tears  in  the  words  of 
your  last  letter,  surely  my  long  effusion  did 
not  contain  cause  for  sorrow.  You  must  not 
pity  me;  don't  picture  me  fighting  a  silent  battle 
against  unknown  and  untried  forces.  The  trou- 
ble is,  Jerry,  you  have  me  in  wrong  perspective; 
you  forget  I'm  no  longer  young  and  foolish.  You 
cannot  visualize  me  as  approaching  middle  age, 
you  can  only  see  me  as  I  was  years  ago  when  I 
looked  at  life  through  rose-colored  glasses.  You 
can't  reconcile  the  girl  who  drove  tandem,  flirted, 
and  danced  through  life,  with  the  serious,  chas- 
tened woman  who  has  now  a  real  vocation  in  life. 
Nor  can  you  picture  the  young  matron  who  was 
once  hostess  to  Princess  Angeletcheff,  managing 
the  domestic  routine  of  an  old  peoples'  Home,  nor 
can  you  believe  I,  who  never  cared  where  the  dol- 
lars came  from,  have  learned  to  acquire  and  spend 
them  wisely.  Once  get  my  past,  useless,  thought- 
less existence  out  of  your  mind  and  give  me  credit 
for  a  fair  complement  of  gray  matter  and  the 
added  years  and  the  experiences  thereof,  and  you 

[751 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

will  no  longer  worry  over  my  passionate  endeavor 
to  succeed  in  establishing  an  old  folk's  Arcadia. 

It  had  to  be  something,  Jerry;  all  the  natural 
force  of  my  nature  that  had  gone  to  waste  cried 
out  for  something  to  expend  itself  on,  and,  thank 
heaven,  my  tastes  did  not  run  to  militant  re- 
forms, for  if  I  was  as  determined  to  enforce  pro- 
hibition, for  instance,  as  I  am  to  establish  the 
Home  of  Peace,  Carrie  Nation  wouldn't  be  in  the 
same  class  with  me,  and  an  ax,  not  a  hatchet, 
would  be  symbolic  of  my  enterprise  and  destruc- 
tion; and  as  for  calling  my  work  depressing — that 
is  nonsense.  If  I  saw  only  bent  backs,  lame  legs 
and  blind  eyes — yes — but  I  look  beyond  these 
infirmities  and  what  I  find  is  not  depressing.  In 
fact,  our  Home  has  its  comedy;  there  are  more 
things  to  laugh  over  than  to  bemoan.  The  trouble 
is,  none  of  us  laugh  half  enough,  and  reach  old  age 
forgetting  the  art.  Fortunately  my  sense  of  humor 
is  as  keen  as  ever  and  it  stands  me  in  good  stead, 
for  I  more  often  settle  what  apparently  seems  a 
serious  problem  by  turning  the  incident  into  a 
laugh;  once  a  laugh  is  established  the  serious  as- 
pect evaporates  and  the  cause  is  forgotten.  No, 
Jerry,  my  friend,  there  is  no  reason  for  your  com- 
passion. I  am  intensely  interested;  I  have  the 
same  absorbing  enthusiasm  for  my  work  that  a 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

painter  or  sculptor  has  for  his.  I  am  painting  a 
picture  in  life  and  my  figures  are  real  people,  in- 
teresting individualities,  with  the  background  of  a 
fruitful  past,  who  know  life  as  it  really  is  because 
they  have  been  part  of  it  so  long. 

My  days  are  all  too  short  for  all  I  have  to  do; 
every  hour  is  full  to  its  last  minute.  I  have  an 
office  in  town  now  where  I  transact  the  business 
of  the  Home.  Elinor  Ely  is  my  secretary  and  Mrs. 
Carter,  my  able  assistant.  I  begin  my  day's  work 
there,  read  and  dictate  letters,  answer  inquiries, 
and  interview  applicants,  pay  bills,  order  supplies 
and,  in  fact,  perform  all  the  offices  of  a  woman  of 
business.  Then  I  motor  to  the  Home.  It  is  a  six- 
mile  drive  within  sight  of  the  Bay  and  I  love  the 
smell  of  the  sea  that  reaches  me  as  I  speed  along. 
Then  I  come  to  the  country  roads  lined  on  either 
side  with  orange  and  lemon  trees  or  a  border  of 
straggling  eucalyptus,  a  turn  toward  the  east  and 
the  Home  is  before  me.  Old-fashioned,  rambling, 
with  vines  reaching  to  its  weathered,  shingled  roof, 
its  many  windows  glistening  in  the  sunlight,  its 
wide  veranda  extending  invitingly  in  front — it's 
a  beautiful  place  to  me — and  when  the  sound  of 
my  motor  brings  welcoming  faces  to  greet  me,  I 
feel  more  than  repaid  for  my  day's  labor  and  am 
quite  content — almost  happy. 

l77l 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

I  have  induced  Emily  Reeves,  who  is  now  living 
in  the  city,  to  take  her  father's  place  as  a  director. 
She  did  not  want  to  do  it,  but  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Long,  helped  me  persuade  her.  Emily  says  she 
has  not  my  understanding  of  old  people;  she  pre- 
fers the  companionship  of  youth,  but  I  feel  confi- 
dent when  she  knows  our  people  she  will  like 
them;  as  for  the  members,  they  are  shyly  offering 
her  a  welcome.  That  she  is  her  father's  daughter 
goes  a  long  way  with  them,  for  they  loved  him. 
She  has  built  and  furnished  a  dear  little  modern 
cottage  for  two,  the  second  that  has  been  added  to 
the  Home,  and  has  named  it  after  the  daughter 
she  lost.  It  is  already  occupied.  The  cottage  plan 
is  going  to  be  very  popular  and  many  of  our  citi- 
zens are  planning  to  follow  Mrs.  Reeves'  example 
and  erect  cottages  as  memoriams  to  those  they 
loved.  It  is  a  pretty  idea,  a  far  better  monument 
than  one  of  stone  in  a  cemetery,  and  I  shall  en- 
courage it,  for  it  is  carrying  out  the  general  scheme 
I  had  in  mind  when  I  planned  the  Home,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  but  that  a  few  years  hence  we  will 
have  the  main  building  surrounded  by  dozens  of 
cottages,  each  with  its  tiny  flower  garden  which 
will  entice  the  occupants  into  the  open  air  and  give 
the  healthful  exercises  needed,  in  the  care  of  their 
flowers. 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

I  am  trying  to  guard  against  the  tendency  to 
house  themselves  too  closely;  this  habit  is  more 
noticeable  in  the  members  who  have  not  lived  in 
Southern  California,  for  you  must  know,  Jerry, 
that  the  Home  is  attracting  old  people  from  every- 
where and  it  is  not  improbable  that  every  state  in 
the  Union  will  be  represented  here  before  long. 
Southern  California  has  been  made  for  old  people; 
it  adds  years  to  their  lives,  one  reason  being  they 
do  not  need  to  combat  the  elements;  the  climatic 
conditions  are  ideal,  giving  them  the  opportunity 
to  spend  most  of  their  waking  hours  out  of  doors. 
I  am  often  asked  all  kinds  of  foolish  questions 
regarding  the  Home;  some  I  can  answer  satisfac- 
torily, but  others  have  no  logical  answers.  I  was 
asked  if  I  could  guarantee  happiness  to  the  mem- 
bers. I  think  it  rather  an  unfair  supposition  to 
hold  anyone  responsible  for  the  happiness  of  an- 
other, for  the  essence  of  happiness  must  come 
from  within,  but  if  absolute  freedom,  comfort,  and 
beautiful  surroundings  can  produce  the  state  of 
mind  called  happiness,  we  come  pretty  near  dis- 
tributing it.  The  other  day  I  had  a  sample  of  one 
kind  of  unalloyed  enjoyment,  which  was  an  object 
lesson  by  which  I  benefited. 

Three  old  ladies  were  sitting  on  the  veranda 
busy  with  some  needle-work,  their  tongues  keeping 

[79] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

pace  with  their  needles,  and  I  overheard  them 
criticising  the  really  splendid  noonday  meal  in  the 
most  scathing  terms;  not  an  article  of  food  served 
escaped  their  condemnation.  I  was  aghast  at  the 
unjust  tirade  and  the  lack  of  appreciation  dis- 
played. I  turned  toward  them,  meaning  to  show 
my  displeasure  at  their  conduct,  for  disloyalty  and 
fault-finding  are  considered  the  cardinal  sins  at  the 
Home,  but  I  stopped  suddenly  as  the  picture  of 
the  three  old  women  met  my  gaze.  They  did  not 
see  me,  but  continued  to  rock  backward  and  for- 
ward in  perfect  rhythm  to  their  chatter,  with  the 
most  benign  and  contented  expressions  on  their 
faces.  I  suddenly  realized  that  as  I  promised  my- 
self to  help  make  them  happy,  the  present  occa- 
sion was  proof  that  the  cook  was  innocently  help- 
ing me,  and  a  single  word  of  reproof  would  defeat 
my  ends.  I  slipped  noiselessly  back  into  the  house 
concluding  no  harm  had  been  done,  for  if  it  had 
not  been  the  dinner,  necessarily  something  else 
would  have  been  the  medium  of  expressing  their 
opinion,  and  exercising  the  right  of  free  speech 
gave  them  unmitigated  satisfaction. 

So  you  see,  Jerry,  I  am  learning  to  be  philo- 
sophic, to  take  things  and  people  as  I  find  them, 
and  am  guiding  the  affairs  of  the  Home  on  broad 
lines.  Of  course  there  will  always  be  some  who  will 

[80] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

take  advantage,  but  I  shall  consider  each  indivi- 
dual case  on  its  merits,  and  I  believe  will  find  the 
way  to  adjust  the  difficulties  as  they  arise,  but  I'm 
determined  that  the  faults  of  a  few  shall  not  alter 
the  tone  of  our  little  community  and  that  the 
present  policy  of  not  restricting  our  members  by 
iron-clad  and  narrow  rules  shall  prevail.  As  long  as 
no  one  encroaches  on  the  rights  of  the  other  mem- 
bers or  does  not  injure  anyone  but  himself,  I  shall 
not  interfere  and  I  do  hope  I  never  will  have  occa- 
sion to  dismiss  any  of  my  old  people.  I  want  them 
all  to  love  their  home  too  dearly  to  want  to  for- 
feit the  right  to  remain. 

Mother  is  urging  me  to  come  home  on  a  visit; 
she  believes  father  and  I  would  become  reconciled 
if  I  came.  Of  course  I  won't  go,  I  am  far  too  busy, 
besides  I  am  not  seeking  the  reconciliation.  On 
my  part  there  never  has  been  an  estrangement, 
and  father  loves  me  too  well  to  be  really  angry. 
It  is  just  a  pose;  he  has  strutted  and  declared  him- 
self, and  he  can't  bring  himself  to  acknowledge  he 
was  just  bluffing.  Only  mother  takes  him  seri- 
ously. It  would  please  him  immensely  and  save 
his  pride  if  I  would  enact  the  part  of  the  prodigal, 
but  I  won't.  When  I  am  successful  in  having  per- 
petuated the  Home  I  shall  invite  him  to  visit  it 
as  if  nothing  had  ever  occurred  to  displease  him, 

[81] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

and  mark  my  words,  he  will  come  and  be  glad  of 
the  opportunity. 

Do  you  ever  see  them?  If  you  do,  don't  dare 
tell  them  what  I  am  doing.  It  must  be  a  surprise 
and  I  want  it  to  be  a  startling  one.  By  the  way, 
send  me  a  late  photograph  of  yourself.  I  want 
to  see  if  you  are  still  looking  shamefully  young. 
I  hope  not;  I  feel  as  old  as  Methuselah  and  I  don't 
want  you  to  get  too  far  behind  me. 

Yours, 

EDITH. 


[82] 


LETTER  XII 
DEAR  JERRY: 

I  LITTLE  thought  when  I  wrote  you  last  that 
many  months  would  elapse  before  I  again 
wrote  you  a  detailed  account  of  the  progress 
I  was  making  in  establishing  the  Home  of  Peace. 
Your  sudden  decision  to  make  the  grand  tour  took 
my  breath  away;  you  seemed  fairly  rooted,  and 
St.  Louis  is  your  natural  habitat;  besides,  you 
would  never  come  to  California  to  see  me  and  I 
believed  your  law  business  had  you  firmly  in  its 
tentacles,  and  that  you  believed  the  price  of  a  pro- 
tracted holiday  was  bankruptcy  or  sudden  death. 
I  did  not  begrudge  you  your  long  deferred  vaca- 
tion, although  I  felt  rather  forsaken,  and  your 
postals  and  sketchy  letters  telling  of  the  pleasures 
you  were  having  in  foreign  places,  did  not  invite 
replies  that  had  anything  in  common  with  an  old 
peoples'  Home  and  consequently  I  deferred  writ- 
ing of  my  work  until  you  were  again  settled  at 
home  and  asked  me  to  resume. 

I  will  never  be  able  to  account  for  your  aversion 
to  visiting  Southern  California;  it  is  not  flattering 
to  me,  but  if  you  have  valid  reasons  and  don't 

[83] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

want  to  give  them,  I  suppose  I  will  have  to  be 
content  with  the  vague  promise  in  your  last  letter 
of  some  time  surprising  me.  I  know  when  I  do  see 
you  I  shall  be  too  happy  to  question  your  delay 
and  the  fact  that  you  have  come  at  last  will  con- 
tent me.  I  have  lost  the  thread  of  my  narrative 
and  cannot  remember  just  where  I  left  off,  so  shall 
just  give  you  a  general  resume  of  the  last  two 
years'  accomplishment  which  will  cover  the  main 
incidents  and  lead  up  to  what  the  Home  is  today. 
You  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Tom  is  my 
right-hand  bower  and  does  a  world  of  work  for 
me.  When  he  first  came  to  me  nearly  eighteen 
months  ago,  broken  in  health,  with  only  the  rem- 
nant of  his  fortune  left,  he  seemed  a  grave  re- 
sponsibility, for  he  had  lost  more  than  his  money 
and  health,  he  had  lost  all  interest  in  life.  Some- 
thing happened  to  him  in  the  years  of  his  wander- 
ings of  which  he  never  speaks,  which  has  struck 
deeply  into  his  old  carefree,  optimistic  nature  and 
made  him  old  before  his  time.  He  refused  even 
to  visit  the  Home,  or  to  take  my  enthusiasm  seri- 
ously. I  ceased  to  urge  him  to  drive  out  there 
with  me,  but  took  him  on  long  back-country  drives 
instead.  He  went  to  please  me  and  because  he 
was  indifferent  where  or  how  he  spent  the  time 
so  long  as  I  did  not  force  people  on  him.  The  first 

[84] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

interest  he  took  was  in  watching  Lee  Son  working 
in  my  garden.  Tom  always  had  a  weakness  for 
flowers  and  I  believe  I  have  often  written  you 
what  a  genius  my  Chinaman  is  with  them.  Gradu- 
ally, as  his  health  came  back,  Tom  began  to  spend 
more  time  with  Lee  Son,  listening  to  his  jabbering 
while  he  transplanted  and  seeded,  and  then  he, 
too,  took  to  cutting  slips  and  planting  them,  and 
before  he  realized  it  himself  he  was  intensely  in- 
terested in  watching  the  results  of  his  labors.  I 
was  delighted,  for  I  knew  that  any  interest  was 
better  than  none,  and  I  encouraged  him  without 
letting  him  know  I  noticed  the  change  in  him. 
The  next  improvement  was  shown  in  his  desire 
to  drive  the  motor,  and  as  I  have  but  one,  it 
naturally  came  to  pass  he  was  lured  into  driving 
me  to  the  Home.  He  was  surprised  at  what  he 
saw,  charmed  with  the  environment,  and  through 
his  interest  in  flowers  he  met  my  cottagers  whose 
gardens  he  was  admiring. 

No  one  can  visit  the  Home  and  meet  its  mem- 
bers without  being  impressed  with  the  courtesy 
shown  by  them  to  guests  and  the  proprietary  pride 
they  have  in  the  Home  of  their  adoption.  It  is  a 
colony  of  gentle-folk,  men  and  women  who  have 
not  forgotten  the  usages  of  polite  society  and, 
having  the  opportunity  to  extend  hospitality,  offer 

[85] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

it  most  graciously,  giving  the  recipient  who  may 
have  come  to  patronize,  the  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing been  honored  instead.  I'm  very  proud  of  my 
members,  Jerry,  it  is  a  joy  to  see  them  together. 
Handsome,  white-haired  men  and  women,  every 
one  of  them  my  worthy,  capable  lieutenants,  who 
are  the  real  creators  of  our  model  Home. 

What  I  have  striven  for  is  largely  in  evidence, 
the  co-operative  spirit.  You  can  see  it  in  the  many 
really  beautifully  kept  gardens,  in  their  orderly 
rooms,  in  their  intercourse  with  each  other  and 
in  their  loyalty  to  me.  I  can  easily  prove  my  as- 
sertions that  in  less  than  five  years'  trial  I  have 
demonstrated,  my  theories  have  not  been  imprac- 
tical, and  that  the  broad  policy  I  adopted  of  recog- 
nizing individual  characteristics  and  preventing 
the  curtailment  of  personal  liberty,  has  been  the 
greatest  factor  in  the  spiritual  success  of  the  Home. 

I  do  not  want  to  give  the  impression  that  my 
people  are  endowed  with  more  than  the  usual 
allotment  of  human  virtues  or  that  they  are 
divinely  faultless,  for  they  are  very  real,  every-day 
folk,  but  in  circumstances  giving  maximum  com- 
forts, absolute  liberty  and  a  minimum  cause  for 
complaint,  the  Home  basks  in  harmonious  influ- 
ence and  every  stranger  senses  it. 

Tom  was  impressed.   He  looked  at  me  curiously 

[86] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

several  times  during  our  drive  home,  as  if  he  could 
not  quite  identify  me  in  the  role  in  which  he  had 
just  seen  me.  He  is  not  demonstrative,  as  you 
know,  and  yet  his  tone  was  quite  tender  when  he 
finally  said,  with  one  of  his  whimsical  smiles, 
"Peter  Pan  has  grown  up  after  all.  We  will  have 
to  reconstruct  our  opinion  of  you,  Sis;  after  seeing 
your  Eldorado  the  old  version  doesn't  fit;  you  are 
making  youth  take  a  back  seat,  and  age  the  great 
thing,  the  goal."  Then  he  quoted  Ben  Ezra  "the 
best  is  yet  to  be,  the  last  of  life,  for  which  the  first 
was  made"  and  from  that  day  on  Tom  has  shared 
my  work. 

Tom  has  just  enough  income  not  to  be  com- 
pelled to  work  for  his  living  and  he  cares  nothing 
for  money  beyond  procuring  for  him  his  needs  of 
the  moment,  and  just  now  he  doesn't  want  any- 
thing more  than  his  means  can  easily  gratify  so 
that  he  can  donate  his  services  to  the  "cause," 
and  I  am  very  glad  to  accept  them. 

We  have  five  additional  adjoining  acres  which 
was  a  gift  to  the  Home  from  one  of  our  members. 
It  gives  us  another  old-fashioned  house  and  several 
smaller  buildings.  We  have  remodeled  the  house 
to  accommodate  more  members,  and  moved  one 
of  the  smaller  buildings  into  the  circle  of  cottages 
and  fitted  it  up  as  a  kitchenette,  which  the  mem- 

[87] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

bers  use  to  prepare  special  dishes  and  their  after- 
noon teas.  This  privilege  is  greatly  appreciated, 
for  no  matter  how  good  a  cook  we  have,  there  are 
times  when  the  old  people  have  a  hankering  for 
some  favorite  dish  cooked  by  themselves,  and  noth- 
ing can  satisfy  them  more  than  the  privilege  of 
indulging  their  appetites. 

I  readjust  the  other  day  a  humorous  perversion 
of  Herbert  Spencer  anent  hunger;  there  is  truth 
in  the  statement  that  our  natures  are  influenced 
by  our  appetites  and  I  am  afraid  the  less  incentive 
we  have  for  strenuous  effort  the  more  thought  we 
give  our  stomachs,  and  we  must  accept  his  logical 
conclusion  "that  hunger  is  the  prime  incentive  to 
every  human  motive  in  its  elemental  incitement." 
If  there  is  one  thing  my  old  people  like  to  do  better 
than  anything  else  it  is  to  eat,  not  so  they  can  live, 
for  they  would  live  longer  if  they  ate  less,  but 
because  it  makes  living  more  enjoyable. 

Tom  has  not  yet  learned  to  close  his  eyes  to 
the  shortcomings  of  our  members  and  holds  age 
accountable,  and  it  is  an  unjust  arraignment.  If 
you  have  accomplished  what  you  have  worked  for 
there  is  no  ignominy  in  old  age,  and  it  is  a  matter 
of  self-education  if  you  have  become  grossly  sel- 
fish, useless  and  dissatisfied,  and  if  there  are  no 
past  successes  to  your  credit,  age  is  not  to  blame. 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Youth  is  the  time  of  folly  and  bad  judgment,  wis- 
dom is  the  axiom  of  age  and  we  should  not  deny 
ourselves  the  benefits  thereof.  Tom  laughs  at  my 
logic  and  accuses  me  of  plagiarism,  but  the  accept- 
ance of  palpable  facts  is  not  plagiarism  and  I  see 
daily  the  need  of  an  educational  campaign  that 
fixes  the  blame  for  unlovely  old  age  where  it  be- 
longs, upon  the  individual,  and  as  one  never  is 
too  old  to  profit  by  lessons  learned,  the  schooling 
should  go  on  to  the  grave. 

The  success  of  the  Home,  measured  by  business 
standards,  has  been  phenomenal.  We  have  a  sink- 
ing fund,  do  not  owe  a  dollar  and  have  an  Ai 
credit  for  solvency.  We  have  added  many  cot- 
tages and  have  a  library.  We  also  have  made  a 
park  of  several  of  our  acres,  which  has  added  to 
the  beauty  of  the  setting  of  the  Home. 

We  are  to  have  the  hospital  I  hoped  for  some 
day,  for  means  for  its  materialization  have  been 
provided  for  by  an  old,  childless  couple  who  have 
followed  the  fortunes  of  the  Home  since  its  incep- 
tion, and  who  will  use  their  rather  generous  for- 
tune in  furthering  my  plans.  The  sad  thing  about 
this  is  when  we  get  the  hospital  they  will  no 
longer  be  among  the  living.  I  wish  people  would 
not  postpone  intended  gifts  until  they  are  no 
longer  here  to  enjoy  the  good  they  do.  Some  day 

[89] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

I'll  tell  you  all  about  these  future  benefactors,  for 
they  are  an  interesting  study. 

Well,  Jerry  dear,  I  hope  I  have  not  been  guilty 
of  too  much  repetition,  but  two  years  is  a  long 
gap  to  fill  in  and  while  you  were  away  gathering 
fresh  inspiration  in  unfamiliar  and  pleasant  places, 
I  have  stayed  on  my  job.  My  work  has  become 
largely  routine,  but  I  never  have  lost  my  keen 
enjoyment  in  it  nor  have  my  dreams  lessened  in 
magnitude.  I  still  have  my  vision  before  me  and 
the  Home  is  gradually  becoming  a  realization  of 
what  I  hoped  for.  A  few  years  more  and  I  can 
sit  back  and  survey  it  with  satisfaction,  but  there 
is  much  to  do  before  I  can  write  finis.  Write  to 
me  often,  Jerry,  I  need  your  letters. 

EDITH. 


90] 


LETTER  XIII 
MY  DEAR  JERRY: 

I  HAVE  had  all  kinds  of  unusual  experiences 
in  my  time  as  you  well  know,  and  have  en- 
countered as  large  a  variety  of  humanity  as 
any  one,  but  I  believe  the  incidents  I  am  going 
to  recite  in  this  letter  and  the  people  connected 
with  them  will  have  to  be  given  prominent  places 
in  my  rather  checkered  career,  if  for  no  other  rea- 
son than  that  they  afforded  me  several  unique 
sensations.  I  know  that  to  a  certain  extent  I'm 
considered  rather  unusual,  and  in  some  people's 
minds  my  connection  with  the  Home  is  looked 
upon  as  a  medium  of  self-aggrandizement,  but  I 
never  dreamed  any  one  would  doubt  my  honesty, 
much  less  come  to  me  with  a  proposition  that 
savored  of  cheap  melodrama  and  had  all  the  ele- 
ments of  criminal  action. 

You  remember  my  telling  you  of  the  old  cou- 
ple who  had  arranged  to  furnish  the  means  to  build 
a  hospital  and  to  endow  it?  Well,  this  act  of  the 
old  couple  inspired  the  plot  of  the  play. 

Nearly  every  day  I  am  consulted  on  the  merits 
of  the  Home,  so  when  one  morning  several  months 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

ago  the  secretary  ushered  a  stranger  into  my  pri- 
vate office,  I  was  fully  prepared  to  answer  the 
many  pertinent  questions  she  asked  regarding  our 
institution.  She  was  a  stout,  heavy-boned  woman, 
rather  short  in  stature  and  of  advanced  age,  wear- 
ing glasses  that  magnified  the  defect  in  one  eye, 
but  showed  the  other  clear  and  sharp  as  steel. 
She  spoke  with  short  precision,  using  glibly  excel- 
lent English.  Her  personality  was  forceful  but 
not  pleasing,  and  she  impressed  me  as  having  lived 
hard.  She  introduced  herself  as  Mrs.  Childs,  and 
after  she  had  satisfied  her  curiosity  and  appar- 
ently taken  my  measure,  she  explained  that  her 
sister  and  her  husband  had  been  reading  of  the 
Home  since  its  inception,  and  had  sent  her  to  make 
the  inquiries  preliminary  to  doing  something  for 
it.  I  expressed  my  gratification  and  invited  my 
visitor  to  bring  her  relatives  to  visit  the  Home. 

It  was  a  week  later  that  the  invitation  was 
accepted,  and  I  met  the  sister,  a  Mrs.  McCurdy. 
She  was  ten  years  older  than  Mrs.  Childs,  tall, 
severe  looking,  and  pronounced  and  open  in  her 
disapproval  of  Mrs.  Childs.  I  felt  rather  sorry  for 
the  younger  woman  who,  I  presumed,  was  de- 
pendent on  Mrs.  McCurdy,  and  made  to  feel  it, 
for  every  observation  or  suggestion  Mrs.  Childs 
made  was  ridiculed  or  contradicted.  However, 

[92] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Mrs.  McCurdy  must  have  been  satisfied  with  what 
she  saw  and  learned  on  her  visit  of  investigation, 
or  Mrs.  Childs  had  inadvertently  criticised  it  ad-, 
versely  and  aroused  a  contrary  spirit,  for  I  was 
sent  for  a  few  days  later,  and  in  a  consultation 
with  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McCurdy,  in  which  the 
Home's  needs  were  discussed,  I  expressed  my  de- 
sire for  a  fully  and  modernly  equipped  hospital. 
It  was  a  big  thing  to  ask  for,  and  I  had  but  little 
hope  that  the  wish  would  be  gratified.  But  after 
some  discussion  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McCurdy 
agreed  to  donate  the  means  for  building  this  addi- 
tion, and  promised  to  take  such  legal  steps  as  were 
necessary  to  secure  the  amount  required  for  this 
purpose  and  to  endow  it. 

Ordinarily  I  would  have  been  wild  with  delight 
at  the  prospect  of  another  realization  of  my 
dreams,  but  there  was  something  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  that  family  which  was  out  of  tune  with 
the  fine  thing  they  proposed  to  do.  Old  Mr. 
McCurdy,  who  had  the  smile  of  a  saint  and  who 
had  to  catch  what  was  being  said  through  an  ear 
trumpet,  babbled  with  childish  delight  of  the  pun- 
ishment in  store  for  the  ingratitude  of  various 
far-away  nephews  and  nieces  and  of  how  this 
arrangement  would  "fix  them,"  while  Mrs.  Mc- 
Curdy declared  several  times,  with  a  malignant 

[93] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

glance  at  her  sister,  that  none  of  her  relatives  would 
get  another  dollar  from  her  to  waste  in  ungodly  liv- 
ing and  she  was  not  going  to  be  afraid  to  go  to  sleep 
at  nights  because  of  some  will  she  might  make. 

It  was  horrible,  this  lack  of  harmony  at  their 
age,  and  I  was  glad  to  cut  the  interview  short  as 
possible  and  to  get  away.  Mrs.  Childs  apparently 
took  no  notice  of  the  side  remarks,  in  fact,  em- 
phasizing the  need  of  legally  safeguarding  the 
property  so  that  no  one  could  prevent  the  carry- 
ing out  of  the  McCurdy's  plans.  It  was  finally 
agreed  that  they  would  consult  some  trustworthy 
attorney  to  suggest  the  safest  method  of  securing 
the  hospital  which  was  to  bear  their  name,  to 
the  Home.  I  suggested  several  attorneys,  among 
them  Judge  Goodridge,  and  as  they  knew  of  his 
unblemished  reputation  and  surmised  he  would 
not  charge  them  for  his  services,  which  latter  con- 
sideration had  considerable  weight  in  their  penuri- 
ously  thrifty  minds,  he  was  selected  to  draw  up 
the  necessary  document. 

Poor  Judge  Goodridge!  He  had  his  hands  full 
during  the  weeks  that  followed,  for  they  changed 
their  plans  every  time  a  contract  was  drawn.  The 
object  of  absolutely  cutting  off  their  kin  was  up- 
permost in  their  minds,  and  unfortunately,  it  was 
evident  the  Home  was  used  as  an  instrument  with 

[94] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

which  to  vent  their  spiteful  hatred,  and  not  until 
every  word  of  the  contract  assured  them  that  there 
was  no  loophole  by  which  their  distant  heirs  might 
defeat  their  object,  did  they  feel  satisfied  to  affix 
their  signatures  to  deeds  of  valuable  property  that 
at  their  death  became  the  property  of  the  Home. 
I  was  thoroughly  disgusted  with  the  whole 
proposition  when  the  business  was  concluded.  I 
was  given  the  deeds  to  hold  in  trust  with  explicit 
orders  never  to  let  them  out  of  my  possession,  and 
to  record  them  the  moment  one  or  the  other  of 
the  donors  passed  away.  I  wanted  the  hospital 
badly  and  I  wished  I  could  feel  more  elated  at  the 
prospect  of  this  valuable  addition  to  the  Home, 
but  candidly,  Jerry,  if  I  were  the  only  one  to  be 
considered  in  the  matter  I  would  refuse  to  accept 
the  gift  under  the  circumstances.  I  fully  appre- 
ciate the  McCurdys'  right  to  give  what  is  indis- 
putably theirs,  to  give  as  they  see  fit,  and  in  this 
case  there  are  no  immediate  or  dependent  heirs  to 
suffer,  excepting  of  course  the  sister,  who,  by  the 
way,  is  provided  for  by  the  consideration  exacted 
in  the  deeds  which  gives  her  a  membership  in  the 
Home,  and  I  must  say  if  she  is  disappointed  in  the 
disposition  of  her  sister's  considerable  means  she 
is  too  game  to  let  on,  for  she  never  by  word  or 
look  expressed  her  chagrin,  and  I  made  a  mental 

l95l 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

reservation  to  use  my  influence  with  the  Board 
of  Directors  to  do  something  for  her  when  the 
money  came  into  our  hands. 

After  the  matter  had  been  duly  arranged  I 
hoped  they  would  not  call  upon  me  again  as  I 
had  no  desire  to  cultivate  their  acquaintance,  but 
I  was  constantly  asked  on  one  pretext  or  another 
to  visit  them,  and  I  soon  learned  I  would  have  to 
earn  the  hospital  by  drafts  made  on  my  time  and 
patience.  The  McCurdys  were  very  well  pleased, 
with  the  arrangement.  They  took  pride  in  posing 
as  rich  philanthropists  and  in  the  important  figure 
they  cut  in  the  affairs  of  the  Home  by  virtue  of 
their  gift,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  discussing 
the  future  McCurdy  Hospital  with  me.  On  Mrs. 
McCurdy's  suggestion  we  had  plans  drawn  and 
submitted  to  them.  I  read  up  on  everything  I 
could  find  pertaining  to  hospitals,  and  had  formed 
a  reliable  conception  of  just  what  we  would  re- 
quire, not  alone  for  service  for  our  members,  but 
in  operating  for  public  use,  so  as  to  add  to  the 
financial  resources  of  the  Home. 

I  confess  I  began  to  anticipate  some  of  the 
pleasure  I  would  have  when  the  plans  became  a 
fact  and  I  could  develop  this  new  interest,  and 
gradually  I  was  becoming  less  prejudiced  against 
the  donors.  On  some  of  these  visits  I  was  asked  to 

[96] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

bring  the  deeds  in  my  possession  for  inspection.  I 
know  that  in  spite  of  their  professed  faith  in  me  they 
felt  safer  when  on  examining  the  seals  of  the  packet 
entrusted  to  me,  they  found  them  intact  and  in 
the  same  condition  as  when  given  into  my  keeping. 
The  Sunday  following  after  I  wrote  you  last  I 
received  a  phone  message  from  Mrs.  Childs  ask- 
ing me  to  call,  as  Mrs.  McCurdy  was  very  ill  and 
asking  for  me.  I,  of  course,  responded  and  was 
met  at  the  door  by  Mrs.  Childs  and  ushered  into 
the  living-room  which  opened  directly  from  the 
street.  A  tall,  stately,  fine  looking  woman  rose 
as  I  entered.  Mrs.  Childs,  in  a  whisper,  intro- 
duced her  as  Mrs.  Philips,  and  then  beckoned  me 
to  follow  her  into  an  adjoining  room.  Mrs.  Philips, 
who  had  only  slightly  inclined  her  head  at  the 
introduction,  followed  also.  As  they  tiptoed  their 
way  into  the  room,  I  felt  a  queer  sensation  of 
impending  trouble  and  unconsciously  braced  my- 
self on  the  defensive.  Mrs.  Childs,  in  a  low, 
subdued  voice,  began  the  conversation  by  explain- 
ing Mrs.  McCurdy's  illness.  She  was  plainly  ner- 
vous and  ill  at  ease  and  her  manner  lacked  her 
usual  assurance.  Somehow  I  was  not  surprised 
when  she  told  me  her  sister  had  changed  her 
sentiments  regarding  the  disposition  of  her  money 
in  her  favor  and  had  requested  her  to  tell  me  so, 

[97] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

but  I  did  not  believe  her;  she  did  not  look  directly 
at  me  while  speaking,  but  as  I  was  watching 
closely — I  felt  I  needed  to — I  saw  her  glance 
at  Mrs.  Philips,  who  had  maintained  her  silence, 
but  whose  eyes  studied  my  face  with  penetrating 
persistence — that  she  caught  Mrs.  Childs'  look 
and  answered  it  imperceptibly  I  had  no  doubt— 
for  Mrs.  Childs,  hesitating,  feverishly  went  on 
with  her  lesson,  convincing  me  she  had  been 
coached  by  the  younger  woman.  I  made  no  reply, 
and  she,  gaining  fluency  as  she  went  on,  again 
told  me  her  sister  had  ordered  her  to  get  the  deeds 
from  me  at  once  as  she  no  longer  intended  to  give 
her  money  to  the  Home,  but  to  herself  and  other 
heirs  and  that  she  had  made  her  will  accordingly. 
I  don't  know  why  I  should  have  doubted  her, 
Jerry,  for  it  would  be  a  natural  thing  for  Mrs. 
McCurdy  to  do;  and  Mrs.  Childs  had  never  given 
me  a  reason  to  believe  she  cared  a  whoop  for  her 
sister's  money,  but  the  presence  of  that  dark- 
haired  woman  spoiled  the  truth  of  the  story.  I 
knew  somehow  that  it  was  a  lie  and  that  the 
stranger  was  back  of  it.  She  is  about  half  the  age 
of  Mrs.  Childs,  not  more  than  thirty-five  years  old, 
her  features  regular  and  pronounced,  her  mouth 
large,  full-lipped,  sensual,  her  deeply-set  eyes  cold 
and  calculating;  a  woman  with  an  iron  will  and  an 

[98] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

unscrupulous  selfishness — at  least  that  was  what 
I  saw  and  I  disliked  her  instinctively. 

I  knew  Mrs.  McCurdy's  room  was  just  beyond 
the  living-room  and  back  of  where  we  sat,  and  I 
surmised  the  whispering  was  not  for  fear  of  dis- 
turbing her  but  the  anxiety  to  keep  her  from 
knowing  of  my  presence.  In  order  to  test  my 
suspicions  I  raised  my  voice  and  told  them  dis- 
tinctly I  could  not  give  up  the  deeds,  as  I  had 
accepted  them  as  a  trust  for  a  specific  purpose  and 
could  not  give  them  up  to  any  one;  that  if  it  were 
true  Mrs.  McCurdy  regretted  what  she  had  done, 
she  would  be  compelled  to  take  certain  legal  steps 
to  cancel  the  obligation  and  that  I  did  not  doubt  if 
the  Board  of  Directors  were  convinced  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  McCurdy's  change  of  heart,  matters  could 
be  satisfactorily  arranged.  While  I  spoke  Mrs. 
Childs  looked  apprehensively  at  the  closed  door 
and  asked  me  to  lower  my  voice,  but  I  paid  no 
attention  and  walked  to  the  door  and  opened  it 
while  speaking.  When  we  reached  the  living-room 
a  nurse  came  from  Mrs.  McCurdy's  room  oppo- 
site and  said  her  patient  had  recognized  my  voice 
and  insisted  upon  seeing  me.  Before  either  of 
them  could  stop  me  I  followed  the  nurse  into  Mrs. 
McCurdy's  room.  I  did  not  find  her  as  ill  as  I 
expected.  She  was  sitting  erect  in  bed,  her  face 

[99] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

was  flushed,  but  more  with  anger  than  with 
fever.  She  beckoned  me  imperiously  to  her  side 
and  asked  me  in  a  whisper  how  I  happened  to 
come,  and  asked  suspiciously  what  Mrs.  Childs 
had  been  talking  to  me  about,  and  without  wait- 
ing for  my  reply  to  either  question  exclaimed 
feverishly,  "Don't  let  them  get  those  deeds  from 
you,  I  know  they  will  try;  Liza  is  like  putty  in 
Mrs.  Philips'  hands;  she  is  a  wicked,  designing 
woman.  I  told  Liza  not  to  bring  her  here  and  yet 
she  comes."  I  saw  she  was  growing  excited  and 
I  calmed  her  by  assuring  her  the  deeds  were  safe 
and  no  one  would  get  them  from  me. 

I  heard  someone  at  the  door  so  I  began  to  talk 
of  something  else.  Mrs.  Childs  entered  the  room 
and  solicitously  asked  me  not  to  allow  her  sister 
to  overdo  by  too  long  a  visit.  She  evidently  had 
stopped  to  consult  her  friend  before  following  me 
and  hoped  nothing  more  than  what  she  overheard 
had  been  said;  she  endeavored  to  get  rid  of  me  as 
soon  as  possible.  As  I  had  learned  all  that  was 
necessary  I  left  the  room,  and  avoiding  the  at- 
tempt at  adroit  quizzing,  I  left  the  house,  returned 
home,  and  told  Tom  all  about  it.  He  advised  me 
to  be  careful  and  to  tell  my  experience  to  Judge 
Goodridge,  but  thought  the  Judge  would  be  in- 
clined to  credit  me  with  too  much  imagination. 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Early  next  morning  I  was  called  to  the  phone 
and  was  surprised  to  learn  Mrs.  Philips  was  speak- 
ing. She  asked  me  to  meet  her  at  a  rendezvous 
near  the  McCurdy  house,  explaining  she  had 
something  important  to  tell  me.  I  hesitated  a 
moment  and  then  reluctantly  consented  to  meet 
her  on  the  corner  designated,  curious  as  to  what 
the  next  move  would  be.  I  inquired  after  Mrs. 
McCurdy,  but  she  hung  up  without  replying.  After 
thinking  the  matter  over  I  decided  I  did  not 
want  to  meet  Mrs.  Philips  as  she  requested  and 
had  my  maid  phone  her  that  I  would  see  her  in 
my  office  instead,  if  she  had  anything  of  import- 
ance to  communicate.  I  had  hardly  more  than 
arrived  at  my  office  when  she  phoned  asking  me 
to  receive  her  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  I  con- 
sented, and  again  asked  her  of  news  of  Mrs. 
McCurdy,  and,  as  before,  she  cut  off  the  line 
without  answering  my  question.  It  must  have 
been  because  I  was  suspicious  of  her  anyway  that 
I  determined  to  learn  how  Mrs.  McCurdy  was  and 
why  she  refused  to  give  me  the  information. 

I  called  up  the  McCurdy  number  and  Mrs. 
Childs  answered  the  ring.  She  asked  who  was 
speaking  before  replying  to  my  inquiry  regarding 
her  sister's  health;  her  voice  stiffened  when  I  gave 
my  name,  but  she  replied  coldly  and  evenly  that 

[101] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

her  sister  was  no  better  and  hung  up  the  receiver 
before  I  could  question  further.  Tom  was  in  the 
office  listening  to  the  one-sided  conversation  at  the 
phone  and  when  I  told  him  what  had  been  said, 
his  face  darkened  and  he  asked  me  to  let  him  take 
a  hand  in  the  game.  He  didn't  wait  for  me  to 
give  him  permission  but  stalked  to  the  phone  and 
called  up  the  McCurdy  number.  I  heard  him  ask 
who  was  speaking  and  then  he  coolly  said,  "This 
is  Doctor  Taylor  speaking;  I  want  a  word  with 
the  nurse  attending  Mrs.  McCurdy."  Then,  after 
a  brief  delay,  he  again  spoke,  "Is  this  the  nurse? 
This  is  Doctor  Taylor.  How  is  Mrs.  McCurdy?" 
I  waited  breathlessly,  expecting — I  don't  know 
what — then  realized  I  was  not  surprised  when  I 
heard  him  exclaim,  "Dead!  When  did  she  die?" 
As  he  hooked  the  receiver  he  turned  to  me  and 
quietly  remarked,  "You're  mixed  up  with  some 
crooks,  Sis;  Mrs.  McCurdy  died  last  night;  better 
let  me  talk  to  this  Mrs.  Philips."  "No,"  I  an- 
swered, "this  is  my  job  and  I'll  see  it  through. 
I  have  the  advantage  of  them  to  the  extent  of 
knowing  Mrs.  McCurdy  is  dead  when  they  want 
to  keep  that  fact  from  me."  Just  then  Mrs. 
Philips  swept  in.  She  glanced  at  Tom  curiously 
and  asked  to  see  me  alone.  I  took  her  into  my 
private  office,  and  the  door  no  sooner  closed  on 

[102] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

us  when  she  handed  me  a  folded  note.  I  read  it 
through  carefully  twice  before  speaking.  My  heart 
was  pounding  and  I  knew  I  was  trembling,  even  if 
my  hands  were  steady,  for  the  note  purported  to 
be  an  order  from  Mrs.  McCurdy  for  the  deeds  and 
as  I  had  become  familiar  with  Mrs.  McCurdy 's 
handwriting,  I  knew  the  order  was  a  forgery. 

She  watched  me  in  intense  silence  and  when  I 
looked  up  she  was  waiting  determinedly  for  my 
answer.  "I'm  sorry,  Mrs.  Philips,"  I  said,  con- 
ventionally, "but  the  case  stands  as  it  did  yes- 
terday. I  cannot  give  these  papers  up  until  the 
legal  formalities  giving  me  the  right  to  do  so 
are  complied  with."  Her  face  hardened  and  she 
angrily  asked  me  if  I  dared  dispute  an  imperative 
order,  that  no  law  could  condone  my  actions  in 
refusing  to  give  up  property  to  its  rightful  owner, 
that  Mrs.  McCurdy  was  waiting  for  the  deeds. 
I  did  not  reply  at  once  and  Mrs.  Philips  presumed 
I  was  weakening,  for  she  urged  a  number  of  argu- 
ments for  me  to  consider.  Finally  I  said,  "I'll  tell 
you  what  I'll  do,  Mrs.  Philips,  I'll  go  to  Mrs. 
McCurdy's  and  if  she  assures  me  she  wants  the 
deeds  I'll  see  that  she  gets  them  within  an  hour 
after  I  leave  her  presence." 

Mrs.  Philips  had  not  sat  down  when  she  entered 
my  office  and  had  walked  about  the  room  as  she 

[103] 


THE    LAST    MILE-STONE 

talked.  She  stopped  short  and  looked  at  me, 
startled,  then  went  to  the  window  and  stood  look- 
ing out  for  some  time.  She  turned  toward  me 
slowly  and  in  an  altered  voice  began,  "I  had 
hoped  to  do  both  Mrs.  McCurdy  and  Mrs.  Childs 
a  good  turn  by  delivering  this  note  to  you  as  soon 
as  I  could  after  it  was  written  and  to  bring  back 
the  deeds,  but  I  find  you  are  a  hard  woman,  you 
want  your  pound  of  flesh  and  that  you  are  willing 
to  be  a  party  to  a  great  wrong,  for  it  would  be 
wrong  if  Mrs.  Childs  is  deprived  of  what  should 
rightfully  come  to  her;  if  you  were  not,  you  would 
give  me  the  deeds  as  Mrs.  McCurdy  requested, 
without  further  proof  of  her  wishes,  for  unfortu- 
nately you  cannot  do  as  you  suggest.  You  cannot 
ask  Mrs.  McCurdy  if  she  wants  the  deeds,  for  she 
wrote  that  note  last  night  an  hour  before  she  died!" 
What  she  expected  me  to  do  I  don't  know,  but 
she  shrank  as  if  I  had  struck  her  when  I  calmly 
replied,  "I  knew  Mrs.  McCurdy  was  dead,  as  I 
know  this  is  a  forgery,"  and  pointed  to  the  note  in 
my  hand.  With  a  cry  of  rage  she  sprang  forward 
and  before  I  could  prevent  it  she  had  snatched 
the  sheet  of  paper  from  me  and  torn  it  to  bits. 
I  was  furious,  and  disgusted  with  myself  for  care- 
lessly allowing  the  evidence  of  the  forgery  to  be 
taken  from  me,  and  I  ordered  her  to  leave  my 

[104] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

room.  I  cannot  recall  all  I  said  but  I  certainly 
expressed  my  opinion  of  her  and  Mrs.  Childs,  and 
declared  the  deeds  would  reach  the  recorder's  office 
as  soon  as  I  could  get  them  there,  and  that  as  I 
knew  what  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McCurdy's  wishes  were 
I  would  carry  them  out  under  any  circumstances. 
My  anger  cooled  hers.  She  paced  the  length  of 
my  office  several  times,  then  coolly  sat  down  by 
my  desk  at  which  I  was  standing.  She  deliber- 
ately took  up  the  matter  as  if  there  had  never 
been  a  word  of  dispute.  She  pictured  Mrs.  Childs 
as  a  wronged  woman  devoting  her  life  to  her  sister 
and  brother-in-law  and  asked  me  as  woman  to 
woman  to  help  her  right  an  intended  injustice.  It 
was  good  acting,  and  if  I  had  not  known  that  the 
past  life  of  Mrs.  Childs  had  much  to  do  with  Mrs. 
McCurdy's  contempt  for  her,  and  if  my  instinct 
had  not  warned  me  that  Mrs.  Philips  was  unscru- 
pulous, I  might  have  been  made  to  feel  that  my 
part  in  the  domestic  drama  had  been  inexcusably 
cruel,  and  that  in  some  measure  the  women  were 
justified  in  the  attempt  to  secure  the  comparatively 
large  fortune  for  Mrs.  Childs'  use,  but  their  con- 
duct strengthened  my  belief  in  the  reasons  for  Mrs. 
McCurdy's  actions.  She  had  told  me  Mrs.  Childs 
had  lost  the  fortunes  of  her  two  husbands  in  gambl- 
ing and  riotous  living  in  New  York,  and  that 

[105] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

money  had  been  a  curse  to  her,  and  while  at  the 
time  I  disliked  Mrs.  McCurdy  for  exposing  her 
own  sister,  I  felt  now  that  her  provision  enabling 
the  sister  to  spend  her  last  days  in  comfort,  away 
from  the  possible  temptations  that  were  her  un- 
doing, was  wise  if  restricted,  and  that  her  foresight 
in  distrusting  the  Philips  woman  was  justified. 
While  I  was  thinking  this,  Mrs.  Philips'  voice  was 
growing  more  persuasive,  encouraged  by  my  silent 
attention,  and  finally  she  played  her  trump  card 
when  she  offered  me  ten  thousand  dollars  to  give 
up  the  deeds  without  recording  them. 

Jerry,  I  saw  red  then — I  never  have  been  as 
angry  and  I  hope  I  never  will  again,  for  I  wanted 
to  strike  her.  I  don't  remember  what  I  said,  but 
she  was  standing  over  me  menacingly  when  Tom 
strode  into  the  room.  He  was  cool  as  he  always 
is;  he  pointed  to  the  door  and  said  tersely,  "Get 
out,  or  I'll  call  the  police!"  She  glared  at  him 
a  moment,  speechless,  then  turned  and  walked 
to  the  door;  there  she  stopped  and  fairly  hissed, 
"You  haven't  heard  the  last  of  this;  that  money 
will  never  go  to  that  miserable  Home."  She  left 
the  room,  slamming  the  door  after  her. 

I  was  glad  I  had  Tom  to  cling  to  for  I  was  all  in. 
The  storm  had  left  me  weak  and  trembling.  It 
was  a  half  hour  before  I  pulled  myself  together 

fio61 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

and  on  Tom's  advice  I  went  to  Judge  Goodridge 
with  the  story.  He  was  as  indignant  and  sympa- 
thetic as  I  could  wish  and  advised  me  to  record 
the  deeds  at  once,  which  I  did. 

It  is  all  a  horrible  mess,  Jerry,  a  phase  of  the 
work  as  unlocked  for  as  it  is  disagreeable.  I  sup- 
pose we  will  have  trouble,  although  until  Mr. 
McCurdy  passes  away  we  do  not  come  into  actual 
possession,  and  as  the  deeds  have  been  drawn  to 
fully  protect  the  Home,  we  ought  to  have  legal 
solidity  to  our  claims  when  the  time  comes  to  test 
them.  Still  I  wish  it  were  Mr.  Lessing  who  had 
provided  the  means  for  the  hospital.  There  would 
be  nothing  then  to  mar  my  satisfaction  in  its 
possession. 

Tell  me,  Jerry,  if  I  acted  rightly  or  wisely.  I 
don't  want  my  love  for  the  Home  to  warp  my 
sense  of  fitness  or  to  make  me  misconstrue  my 
duty.  All  that  comes  to  the  Home  must  have  the 
sanction  of  a  clear  conscience,  and  I  must  say  the 
strenuous  episode  of  the  McCurdy  gift  has  left 
me  floundering.  As  Tom  says,  "I  don't  know 
where  I'm  at." 

If  you  know,  tell  me. 

Yours, 

EDITH. 

[107] 


LETTER  XIV 
DEAR  JERRY: 

EVENTS  are  happening  with  disturbing  regu- 
larity in  the  McCurdy  matter.  I  know  I'm 
deeply  involved  in  a  plot  to  deprive  the 
Home  of  the  money  left  it  by  the  McCurdy  deeds. 
Back  of  the  scheme  is  Mrs.  Philips;  it  isn't  hard  to 
find  her  motive.  Mrs.  Childs  is  for  some  reason 
in  her  power  either  by  some  knowledge  of  ques- 
tionable facts  in  the  life  of  the  older  woman,  or  by 
a  hypnotic  influence,  under  which  Mrs.  Childs  is 
unconsciously  bending,  for  she  is  not  a  naturally 
weak  woman.  In  spite  of  her  age,  her  mentality 
is  unimpaired  and  her  character,  self-willed  and 
obstinate;  or  it  may  be  that  she  is  an  inveterate 
gambler  and  I  know  by  my  own  sad  experience 
with  Gordon's  gambling  proclivities,  that  the  pas- 
sion blinds  every  moral  sense  and  that  any  risk 
will  be  taken  to  carry  a  point. 

The  two  women  have  not  given  up  the  McCurdy 
money.  If  the  deeds  could  be  set  aside  legally  they 
would  have  had  recourse  to  the  law  before  this, 
but  the  documents  were  too  carefully  drawn  for 
them  to  risk  a  lawsuit,  for  I  know  they  have  con- 

[108! 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

suited  a  number  of  attorneys  without  receiving 
encouragement.  An  unknown  attorney  who  came 
from  Los  Angeles  called  on  me;  he  was  suave, 
diplomatic  and  persuasive,  but  when  his  argu- 
ments failed  to  impress  me,  he  succeeded  in  con- 
veying a  hidden  threat  as  to  what  might  befall  me 
if  my  opposition  took  active  form.  He  did  not 
frighten  me  in  the  least,  although  I  confess  the 
whole  affair  sickens  me  in  its  unsavory  details. 

There  is  the  principle  involved  of  doing  a  duty 
as  prescribed,  and  the  desire  to  thwart  the  efforts 
of  an  unscrupulous  woman  to  deprive  the  Home  of 
what  rightfully  and  legally  belongs  to  it,  but  I  have 
never  come  in  contact  with  this  element  before 
and  my  whole  nature  is  in  revolt  against  it,  and 
yet  I  am  on  my  mettle.  They  have  directed  their 
enmity  to  me  personally  and  their  object  is  not 
only  to  gain  their  purpose,  but  to  discredit  me  in 
this  community,  so  I  am  armed  on  the  defensive. 
The  Home  must  not  suffer  and  I  must  carry  out 
the  terms  of  my  trust,  no  matter  how  bitterly  I 
may  suffer  in  the  conflict. 

Up  to  this  time  the  Home  has  progressed  without 
serious  backsets.  We  have  lost  many  of  our  mem- 
bers by  the  Grim  Reaper,  and  others  have  come 
to  fill  the  vacant  places.  Gradually,  but  surely, 
the  personnel  of  the  members  has  improved.  The 

[109] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Home  attracts  the  gentle  class  by  its  superior  ad- 
vantages, the  lack  of  restrictions,  the  opportunity 
for  individuality,  its  sense  of  independence  and  co- 
operative interests  appealing  to  the  class  of  people 
who  hitherto  had  looked  upon  Homes  for  Aged 
as  hopeless  places  of  penance  which  stigmatized 
them  as  objects  of  undeserved  charity,  and  exiled 
them  from  their  fellows. 

The  Home  is  no  longer  experimental;  it  is  a  suc- 
cess! I  now  hope  for  an  endowment  to  perpetuate 
it.  Mr.  Lessing  would  be  happy  to  see  our  picture 
almost  completed,  and  who  knows  but  what  his 
influence  was  actually  with  me  as  I  felt  it  to  be, 
for  often  when  obstacles  loomed  up  discouragingly 
big,  I  had  only  to  think  of  what  he  would  do  in  a 
like  situation  and  almost  miraculously  the  way 
would  be  clear. 

I  have  never  asked  his  family  to  help  me.  Of 
their  own  accord  they  have  liberally  subscribed 
each  year  to  the  maintenance  fund  and  I  have  not 
only  managed  to  meet  the  expenses  and  add  im- 
provements as  the  years  passed  on,  but  have  been 
able  to  add  to  the  Sinking  Fund,  so  that  at  this 
writing  I  am  not  anxious  as  to  our  present  needs, 
and  am  trusting  the  future  to  meet  emergencies  as 
they  arise. 

Tom  is  now  in  good  health.   He  never  was  ro- 

[no] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

bust  in  spite  of  his  fine  physique  and  ruddy  com- 
plexion, but  his  interest  in  things  and  people  has 
been  reawakened.  We  dine  out  now  and  again, 
and  give  little  informal  dinners  ourselves,  for  we 
have  made  some  really  congenial  friends  and  it  is 
rather  a  relief  to  get  out  of  harness  occasionally 
and  take  a  breathing  spell  in  another  atmosphere. 
Tom's  advent  to  my  home  has  been  an  advantage 
in  many  ways;  we  are  very  chummy,  we  like  the 
same  plays,  books  and  people,  and  he  has  never 
lost  his  active  interest  in  my  work.  He  saves  the 
Home  the  salary  of  an  overseer,  and  as  we  do 
rather  extensive  farming,  he  has  taken  up  the 
study  of  agriculture  and  his  services  are  of  real 
monetary  value,  and  that  has  been  one  of  the 
reasons  for  our  growing  Sinking  Fund. 

But,  Jerry  dear,  he  is  still  young  enough  to 
marry,  and  then  I  shall  be  alone  again  unless  you 
will  consent  to  take  his  place.  We  are  getting  to 
the  discreet  age  and  our  platonic  friendship  would 
not  be  questioned,  besides  we  are  as  much  like 
brother  and  sister  as  two  variously  constituted 
beings  can  be,  wJ*h  the  addition  of  having  a  keener 
insight  into  the  depths  of  our  natures,  which  is  not 
true  of  Tom  and  myself. 

Oh,  Jerry  dear,  why  will  you  let  the  years  roll 
on  without  coming  to  see  me;  our  letters  are  illu- 

[ml 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

minative  and  keep  us  in  close  touch  with  each 
other,  but  do  you  realize  we  will  meet  almost  as 
strangers?  It  has  been  so  long  since  we  met.  We 
are  no  longer  very  young  and  if  you  are  visualizing 
the  gay  young  woman  of  eight  years  ago,  you  will 
not  recognize  the  serious  woman  of  affairs  whose 
hair  has  suspicious  silvery  gleams  in  it,  and  if  I 
saw  your  disappointment  when  we  meet,  my  heart 
would  be  broken,  for,  Jerry  mine,  I'm  still  Peter 
Pan  at  heart,  inside  of  me  has  not  grown  up  and 
I  want  my  playmate,  I  want  him  mighty  bad. 
So  come,  Jerry  mio,  to  your 

EDITH. 


LETTER  XV 
DEAR  JERRY: 

I  SUPPOSE  I  will  have  to  content  myself  with 
the  promise  in  your  last  letter  of  coming  when 
you  can  wind  up  your  business,  but  it  is  un- 
satisfactory when  one  is  so  eager  to  have  you  here. 
Now,  Jerry,  don't  make  silly  speeches.  I  like 
flattery  but  I  cannot  believe  a  man  is  not  affected 
by  the  ravages  of  time.  You  have  always  idealized 
me  and  it  has  been  embarrassing  to  realize  that 
some  day  you  will  see  me  just  as  I  am,  and  it  will 
come  when  the  glamor  of  youth  is  no  longer  there 
to  charm,  but  if  the  years  of  my  life  that  have  had 
more  than  their  quota  of  sorrow  have  given  me 
something  in  place  of  the  attractions  of  which  I 
was  robbed,  and  you  can  find  beneath  the  wreck- 
age some  reason  for  your  illusions  to  cling  to,  I 
shall  be  very  glad,  for  memory  has  a  tenacious 
hold  on  my  sentiments  and  my  emotions  span  the 
years  since  you  and  I  met,  and  in  thought  and 
affection  time  has  not  effected  a  change;  you  are 
now  and  always  will  be  the  one  element  in  my 
existence  that  has  brought  no  regret  or  a  tinge  of 
sorrow.  It  seems  strange  that  such  a  perfect 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

friendship  never  ripened  into  love,  for  we  were 
both  young  together  and  our  lines  crossed  and 
met  <at  every  turn,  but  I  suppose  the  understand- 
ing was  too  complete  to  admit  of  the  striking  of  a 
more  vital  spark  and  we  escaped  the  disillusion- 
ment of  matrimony. 

There  are  times  I  feel  as  old  as  Methuselah,  and 
not  often,  but  now  and  then  the  world  is  a  bit  drab. 
This  occurs  usually  when  I  have  come  in  contact 
with  some  petty  meanness  at  the  Home,  for  we 
are  a  small  world  out  there  with  its  different  ele- 
ments of  human  failings,  and  there  are  experiences 
that  rather  emphasize  the  spiritual  ills  we  are  heir 
to.  It  takes  an  unlimited  amount  of  patience  to 
guide  my  people  through  the  labyrinth  of  daily 
possibilities  of  friction,  to  make  them  see  comedy 
and  avert  tragedy,  for  every  incident  is  magnified 
in  importance  because  of  the  tranquillity  in  which 
they  live.  The  chances  of  discord  or  eruption  are 
minimized  by  the  policy  of  permitting  a  liberal 
exercise  of  individual  rights,  and  after  making 
allowances  for  the  human-hog  tendency  that  creeps 
into  every  place,  we  have  comparatively  little 
trouble  that  is  more  than  merely  irritating. 

The  McCurdy  matter  came  to  an  issue  a  few 
days  ago,  when  an  attorney  representing  Mr. 
McCurdy  came  before  our  Board  of  Directors 

[114] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

pleading  for  the  return  of  half  of  their  gift  for  his 
client.  He  addressed  the  Board,  but  he  singled  me 
out  as  the  one  opposing  him,  for  his  manner  and 
remarks  were  pointedly  in  my  direction.  I  sur- 
mised he  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  take  up  this 
matter  on  the  supposition  that  I  had  unduly  influ- 
enced the  McCurdys  into  making  the  deeds  to 
the  Home,  and  that  he  looked  upon  me  unfavor- 
ably as  a  grafter  of  no  little  ability  and  no  scruples. 
I  asked  him  if  he  came  directly  from  Mr.  McCurdy 
or  from  Mrs.  Childs.  He  resented  the  question 
and  replied  haughtily  that  he  had  been  Mr.  Mc- 
Curdy's  lawyer  for  years  and  had  his  confidence, 
and  that  Mr.  McCurdy,  realizing  he  had  sacri- 
ficed a  legal  right  to  make  a  demand,  threw  him- 
self on  the  generosity  of  the  Board  of  Directors  to 
return  him  half  of  the  McCurdy  estate,  so  that  in 
a  measure  he  could  rectify  the  wrong  he  contem- 
plated when  he  cut  off  his  natural  heirs  without 
a  dollar. 

Knowing  Mr.  McCurdy's  sentiments  regarding 
these  heirs  and  also  recognizing  the  tactics  of  Mrs. 
Childs  and  Mrs.  Philips  in  this  movement,  I 
doubted  the  statement,  but  wondered  what  had 
been  done  and  how,  to  convince  a  man  of  the 
apparent  intelligence  and  honesty  of  this  young 
attorney  who  believed  he  was  acting  according  to 

[115] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

the  best  interests  and  wishes  of  his  old  friend.  No 
one  besides  Judge  Goodridge  knew  of  my  exciting 
experience  some  weeks  ago,  and  even  he  had  no 
conception  of  the  actual  sinister  influence  at  work. 
The  statement  as  made  by  the  attorney  was  ac- 
cepted on  its  face  value,  and  as  it  is  not  the  inten- 
tion of  the  directors  to  benefit  the  Home  by  in- 
flicting an  injury,  the  motion  to  allow  the  claim 
was  carried  above  my  protest.  I  wanted  time  to 
investigate  thoroughly  the  claim  presented.  I  felt 
sure  there  was  a  "nigger  in  the  woodpile"  and  that 
Mr.  McCurdy  would  never  be  allowed  to  dispose 
of  his  half  of  the  McCurdy  estate  as  set  forth. 
However,  I  was  a  helpless  minority  and  the  Philips- 
Childs  contingent  scored  their  first  victory. 

Emily  Reeves  is  the  president  of  the  Board  of 
Directors  and  is  evincing  more  interest  in  the 
Home  than  formerly,  although  she  frankly  admits 
her  activity  is  not  due  to  an  unalloyed  love  for 
aged  people.  Her  passion  is  young  girls,  they  are 
her  fad,  the  object  of  much  of  her  unostentatious 
charity.  She  has  them  about  her  always  and  she 
reflects  much  of  their  youth  and  spontaneity. 
There  is  something  very  wholesome  about  Mrs. 
Reeves.  I  always  feel  better  after  a  visit  with  her. 
Her  money  is  not  spoiling  her  as  it  does  so  many. 
She  finds  plenty  to  do  on  original,  practical  lines 

[116] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

and  falls  easily  and  naturally  into  the  role  of  a 
great  lady.  She  dresses  in  good  taste  and  has  be- 
come a  really  handsome  woman.  Her  hair  has 
turned  prematurely  gray,  which  softens  her  face, 
but  does  not  age  it,  and  her  unaffected  honesty  is 
refreshingly  attractive.  I  told  her  after  the  meet- 
ing, of  some  of  my  trouble  over  the  McCurdy  dona- 
tion, but  she  consoled  me  by  saying  it  wasn't 
worth  worrying  over,  that  the  Home  would  suc- 
ceed without  it. 

I  hope  it  will,  Jerry.  This  is  the  first  backset  it 
has  had,  and  a  loss  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  is  no 
small  matter,  and  if  I  felt  sure  it  would  get  into 
proper  hands  I  would  not  mind  its  loss  to  the  Home, 
but  I  am  confident  it  will  pass  into  the  pockets 
of  Mrs.  Philips  who  has  coveted  it  for  years. 

I  should  like  a  vacation  and  am  seriously  think- 
ing of  a  trip  to  Honolulu.  Tom  could  look  after 
things  awhile,  there  is  nothing  urgent  requiring 
my  presence,  and  I  need  to  get  away.  Don't  be 
surprised  to  get  my  next  letter  from  the  island  of 
the  bird  of  paradise. 

Yours, 

EDITH. 


LETTER  XVI 

On  Board  "Matsonia." 
DEAR  JERRY: 

IT  IS  difficult  to  realize  I  am  really  under  way 
and  headed  for  Honolulu.  So  long  a  time  has 
elapsed  since  my  last  journey  for  pleasure,  and 
so  much  has  intervened  that  has  changed  the  cur- 
rent of  my  life,  I  can  hardly  identify  myself  with 
the  light-hearted  traveler  of  my  youthful  days. 
It  took  considerable  persuasion  to  prevent  my 
backing  down  after  I  announced  my  desire  to  take 
a  needed  vacation,  for  I  felt  the  anxiety  of  a 
mother  over  her  brood  of  children  and  dreaded 
leaving  my  old  people  to  the  mercy  of  employees. 
I  know  it  is  absurd,  for  the  matron  has  been  true 
and  tried,  and  our  physician  is  within  easy  call, 
besides  some  day  the  Home  will  have  to  go  on  with- 
out me,  for  please  God  it  outlives  me  for  centuries, 
and  it  is  almost  strong  enough  now  to  be  inde- 
pendent of  me. 

Before  leaving  I  had  an  old-time  cyclonic  ses- 
sion with  dressmakers  and  fairly  reveled  in  the 
accumulation  of  becoming  gowns.  I  had  almost 
forgotten  how  to  dress,  but  it  is  a  knowledge  that 

[118] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

can  be  soon  resurrected,  and  I  have  trunks  full  of 
smart  things  that  are  going  to  help  me  enjoy  my 
trip,  for  you  know,  Jerry,  when  a  woman  knows 
she  is  well-gowned  she  has  a  solid  foundation  for 
the  pleasure  she  is  bent  on,  and  I  mean  to  enjoy 
every  hour  of  my  six  weeks'  trip  and  return  home 
to  my  work  with  a  freshened  mind  and  rested 
body. 

Dorothy  is  with  me.  She  is  attracting  consider- 
able attention  already.  Her  widow's  weeds  and 
beautiful  young  face  make  her  very  conspicuous. 
I  do  not  believe  she  is  grieving  very  deeply.  Horace 
Gray  was  not  a  lovable  man.  There  was  so  little 
in  common  between  the  middle-aged  invalid  and 
the  sparkling  young  girl  just  out  of  the  school- 
room! There  is  a  vein  of  calculation  in  Dorothy 
that  has  developed  her  judgment,  and  when  she 
marries  again,  as  of  course  she  will,  the  man  will 
have  to  measure  up  to  a  certain  standard  she  has 
set,  unless  the  unexpected  thing  happens  and  she 
is  carried  away  by  a  grand  passion  that  will  sweep 
all  other  considerations  aside.  There  is  very  little 
resemblance  to  her  brother  Gordon  in  Dorothy. 
She  has  not  his  imagination  and  quick  temper,  nor 
his  intemperance.  There  is  no  danger  of  the  family 
skeleton  affecting  her.  She  inherits  her  father's 
placid,  lucid  temperament  and  his  charm  of  man- 

[H9l 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 


ner.  I  am  quite  fond  of  her  and  I  was  glad  she 
was  willing  to  be  my  guest  on  this  trip  for  I  did 
not  care  to  travel  by  myself,  yet  I  felt  immeasur- 
ably alone  and  desolate  as  I  watched  the  partings 
on  the  pier,  between  the  arriving  passengers  and 
their  friends,  and  sighed,  for  there  was  no  one  in 
all  that  multitude  to  wish  me  bon  voyage  or  God- 
speed. All  about  me  was  life  and  bustle;  an  air 
of  joyful  expectancy  was  manifest  which  the  tear- 
ful adieus  of  parting  friends  could  not  efface.  The 
Hawaiian  orchestra  played  "Aloha",  on  the  upper 
deck,  and  as  the  melody  mingled  plaintively  with 
the  general  confusion,  our  ship,  with  a  tremendous 
quiver,  slipped  from  her  bondage  into  the  cradle 
of  the  sea.  I  remained  on  deck  watching  the  shores 
of  San  Francisco  until  they  faded  from  view,  and 
in  those  moments,  as  the  burden  of  my  daily  cares 
rolled  from  me,  I  lived  my  life  over  again.  Month 
after  month,  year  after  year,  in  cinematographic 
sequence  the  main  events  came  before  me — my 
happy  girlhood,  my  heedless,  reckless  marriage, 
the  few  years  of  fool's  paradise,  then  the  bomb 
from  a  clear  sky;  the  shock  of  the  awakening, 
the  readjustment,  the  years  of  humiliation,  disap- 
pointment and  despair,  the  agonizing  deliverance; 
and  at  last,  when  like  a  shipwrecked  mariner,  I 
found  myself  in  a  strange  place  alone  and  for- 

[  120] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

gotten,  and  where  I  least  expected  to  find  it,  I 
found  my  work  and  blessed  peace. 

I  'm  going  away  from  it  now,  but  not  for  long. 
Never  again  will  I  be  bereft,  for  on  the  Bay  in 
Southern  California  in  beautiful  View  Dale  is  my 
Home  for  the  Aged,  the  child  of  my  heart  and 
brain,  whose  loving  tendrils  reach  me  through 
space  and  follow  me  everywhere,  and  which  will 
draw  me  back  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  as  the 
magnet  does  the  needle.  Too  much  of  myself  has 
gone  into  the  work  ever  to  divorce  my  interest, 
although  it  is  too  big  a  thing  to  be  circumscribed 
by  my  individuality.  It  would  be  lacking,  indeed, 
if  it  were  no  greater  than  any  of  the  units  that 
make  it  what  it  is  as  a  whole,  but  it  represents  an 
element  in  my  life  that  has  taken  the  place  of  a 
religion,  chastening  and  softening  my  attitude  to 
all  mankind,  and  giving  me  the  solace  of  a  renewed 
faith  in  myself  and  my  fellow  beings. 

It  was  one  of  the  happiest  days  of  my  life  when 
father  surprised  me  by  his  long-looked-for  visit 
and  told  me  he  had  just  come  from  the  Home,  and 
that  he  found  it  wonderful,  even  more  so  than  you 
had  led  him  to  believe  from  your  description  of  it. 
Dear  Jerry,  he  was  too  full  of  paternal  pride  to 
remember  he  had  ever  disapproved  of  me,  and  in 
the  few  days  of  his  stay  he  never  failed  to  accom- 

[121] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

pany  me  on  my  daily  visits  to  the  Home.  When 
he  left  to  return  home  to  mother  it  was  with  the 
intention  to  come  back  to  California  to  live,  and 
I  little  thought  I  would  never  see  him  again.  It 
is  more  than  a  year  since  his  death,  and  I  have 
never  before  thanked  you  for  urging  him  to  come 
to  me,  yet  it  was  like  you  to  find  the  way  to  bring 
us  together  and  to  leave  me  the  memory  of  his 
joy  in  my  work  to  console  me.  Poor  old  father- 
he  never  deceived  me  a  moment.  I  always  knew 
that  beneath  his  bluster  I  held  a  warm  spot  in  his 
heart.  I  shall  try  to  persuade  mother  to  come 
West;  just  yet  she  feels  she  cannot  leave  the  old 
place;  it  has  too  many  tender  associations,  but 
both  Tom  and  myself  feel  confident  she  will  be 
willing  to  leave  her  old  friends  and  home  town 
and  end  her  days  with  us  in  God's  country. 

I  am  writing  this  from  my  deck  chair.  I  have 
been  on  deck  since  we  steamed  out  of  the  harbor. 
I  am  not  yet  en  rapport  with  my  surroundings  or 
particularly  interested  in  my  fellow  travelers,  but 
am  in  the  mood  in  which  I  usually  write  to  you. 
My  heart  was  too  full  of  the  past,  conjured  up  by 
the  change  of  scene  and  action  which  is  reminis- 
cent of  other  journeys  taken  long  ago  under  such 
different  circumstances,  to  allow  more  than  a  pass- 
ing interest  in  my  surroundings. 

[122] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

The  gentle,  cradling  motion  of  the  ship  is  sooth- 
ing to  my  tired  nerves.  I  can  close  my  eyes  and 
imagine  that  I  am  being  rocked  on  the  bosom  of 
my  mother  and  that  the  soft  strains  of  Hawaiian 
music  are  her  lullaby,  singing  me  to  sleep.  I  am 
getting  drowsy.  I  have  six  days  in  which  to  finish 
this — I  shall  not  try  to  keep  awake  any  longer. 
The  rocking  and  the  lullaby  have  done  their 
work.  I  sleep — 

JERRY,  DEAR: 

I  certainly  expected  to  go  right  on  writing  and 
by  this  time  to  have  a  heavy  budget  to  send  you, 
but  I  suppose  it  is  the  environment,  the  feel  of 
new  clothes  and  the  general  atmosphere  of  irre- 
sponsibility and  holiday  making  that  are  responsi- 
ble for  my  lack  of  concentration;  at  any  rate, 
these  last  three  days  I've  been  metamorphosed 
into  another  being,  and  I  find  I  have  two  distinct 
personalities  and  the  one  now  in  possession  of  my 
flesh  refuses  to  be  serious  or  middle-aged,  in  fact 
I've  turned  back  and  am  young  again.  My  re- 
juvenation began  with  the  donning  of  my  first 
dinner  gown. 

It  has  been  so  long  since  I  have  had  occasion  to 
be  fully  and  formally  dressed  for  an  evening  func- 
tion that  the  process  and  result  rather  excited  me, 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

and  when  Dorothy  exclaimed,  "Why,  Edith,  I 
never  dreamed  you  were  a  beauty,"  I  was  vain 
enough  to  enjoy  the  flattery  and  half  believed  I 
deserved  it.  At  any  rate  my  spirits  were  keyed  to 
a  high  pitch,  and  the  fact  that  Dot  and  I  were  the 
only  women  at  the  table  for  six  assigned  us,  added 
to  my  satisfaction. 

Our  table  mates  proved  to  be  one  of  the  officers 
of  the  ship,  a  civil  engineer,  an  ex-governor  and  a 
newspaper  reporter.  The  gentlemen  exchanged 
cards.  The  officer  introduced  himself  to  me  as  he 
sat  on  my  left,  when,  after  a  slight  service  he  ren- 
dered, I  spoke  to  him,  and  as  the  others  were  only 
waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  be  friendly  I  re- 
verted to  the  time  in  which  you  knew  me,  when  I 
did  before  the  sun  and  moon  that  which  seemed 
good  unto  me  to  do,  and  with  a  sublime  indiffer- 
ence to  comment,  included  them  all  in  a  general 
conversation  in  which  they  were  not  loath  to 
enter.  It  was  the  beginning  of  full  hours  of  un- 
alloyed pleasure,  for  through  our  table  compan- 
ions we  met  many  of  the  passengers  and  now  have 
a  coterie  around  us  always. 

Dorothy  is  very  attractive  and  has  any  number 
of  followers.  I  am  looked  upon  as  a  widow,  per- 
haps because  I  never  speak  of  my  husband,  for  I 
certainly  have  not  imposed  on  any  one,  still  I 

[124] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

do  not  mean  to  encourage  unpleasant  questions. 
This  is  my  holiday  and  I  look  upon  those  I  meet 
here  as  the  necessary  factors  for  an  enjoyable  time. 
We  will  not  meet  again;  it  is  a  passing  episode,  but 
for  the  time  being  very  pleasant  indeed.  I  keep 
wishing  you  were  here  on  the  steamer  with  us;  it 
is  the  one  thing  lacking  to  make  the  trip  perfect 
in  every  detail.  The  sea  is  calm  as  the  Bay  at 
home,  and  the  weather  delightful.  We  can  play 
on  deck  all  day  and  dance  at  night.  We  are  en- 
tertained by  the  antics  of  a  company  of  movies, 
who  are  acting  scenes  in  every  part  of  the  vessel 
at  all  hours.  They  earn  their  money,  poor  dears. 
I  don't  envy  them  in  the  least. 

I  have  not  forgotten  the  Home.  I  think  of  it 
the  last  thing  at  night  when  I  nestle  in  my  berth 
happily  tired  out  from  dancing,  talking  and  laugh- 
ing. I  almost  forgot  how  to  be  happy  for  so  many 
uninterrupted  hours,  but  I'm  afraid  my  prayers 
are  largely  like  this,  "Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
God  bless  my  dear  old  people.  Amen,"  for  I  never 
remember  a  continuity  in  my  reflections  when  I 
wake  up  to  the  sound  of  the  bugle  next  morning.— 
Time  to  dress  for  dinner.  I  shall  wear  a  pink  rose 
slip  under  embroidered  chiffon,  and  I  hope  I  will 
look  as  well  as  I  feel — more  later. 

The  ex-governor  is  our  shadow.   He  is  a  digni- 

[i*Sl 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

fied  man  of  about  fifty  years  of  age.  He  is  a 
widower  and  has  senatorial  aspirations.  He  also 
has  coal  mines  and  bank  stocks — in  fact  he  is 
taking  pains  to  impress  me  with  his  desirability, 
so  that  I  more  than  half  suspect  he  has  designs 
on  Dorothy,  yet  he  is  not  a  bore.  I  find  him  quite 
interesting  as  a  type,  for  in  spite  of  his  political 
success  he  is  an  infant  in  his  knowledge  of  women. 
He  had  but  a  short  married  life,  which  may  ac- 
count for  his  lack  of  education  in  matters  femi- 
nine, and  as  he  is  now  relaxing  after  strenuous 
public  duty  he  is  in  a  very  susceptible  state  and 
can  be  easily  caught.  Dot  says  I'm  wrong  in 
my  diagnosis  and  that  the  fact  of  his  remaining 
a  widower  for  fifteen  years  proves  him  not  easily 
vulnerable,  and  constant  to  an  ideal.  She  also 
negatives  my  notion  of  her  attraction  for  him. 

We  had  a  very  exciting  experience  this  morn- 
ing. A  sailor  fell  overboard  and  while  the  alarm 
was  given,  and  before  the  ship's  progress  was 
arrested,  the  passengers  saw  the  form  of  the  sailor 
valiantly  swimming  toward  the  vessel;  so  close 
was  he  we  caught  the  smile  on  his  face.  Suddenly 
his  expression  changed  and  a  cry  of  horror  went 
up  from  the  watchers  as  an  anguished  wail  reached 
us,  and  the  victim  disappeared.  There  was  a 
momentary  lashing  of  waves,  dark,  rounded  forms 

[136] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

appeared  for  a  moment  where  the  sailor  had  been, 
and  then — only  the  wide  expanse  of  the  Pacific. 
Someone  said,  "Sharks,"  and  amidst  the  crunching 
and  grinding  of  machinery  the  ship  was  halted  in 
its  course.  Boats  were  lowered,  and  for  two  hours 
the  distance  was  scoured.  It  was  only  a  matter 
of  form — the  fate  of  the  sailor  was  known  when 
his  cry  reached  us. 

The  luncheon  was  served,  but  few  ate.  After- 
wards the  bugle  called  all  to  the  salon  where  serv- 
ices for  the  dead  were  read  by  the  ship's  chaplain, 
and  the  beautiful  ceremony  of  casting  flowers  on 
the  waters  was  performed.  Someone  started  a  col- 
lection. It  had  been  learned  a  lonely  old  mother 
would  grieve  for  her  boy,  and  after  a  hymn  the 
passengers  scattered  and  the  incident  was  closed. 
The  dinner  was  as  brilliant  as  those  of  preceding 
nights,  and  with  common  consent  the  day's  trag- 
edy was  not  referred  to. 

Tomorrow  is  our  sixth  and  last  day  aboard.  I 
am  almost  sorry  the  half  of  our  journey  has  been 
covered.  I  feel  I  could  go  on  indefinitely  in  this 
environment,  but  of  course  it  is  because  I  have 
been  so  long  out  of  this  kind  of  life  that  I'm  still 
hypnotized  in  believing  everything  pertaining  to 
it  is  real,  and  the  pleasure  lasting.  I'll  wake  up 
no  doubt  before  long  and  Cinderella-like  creep 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

back  to  my  rags  of  actuality,  having  had  my  one 
stolen  hour  in  youth's  domain,  and  being  just  that 
much  richer  in  memories.  I  shall  mail  this  on  our 
landing  at  Honolulu  and  write  you  another  synco- 
pated edition  from  there. 

Yours  on  the  briny  deep, 

EDITH. 


128 


LETTER  XVII 

Honolulu. 
MINE  FRIEND: 

I  SHALL  never  forget  the  beauty  of  my  first 
glimpse  of  Honolulu.  It  was  early  morning, 
a  pale  purple  haze  enveloped  the  island, 
and  as  through  a  transparent  veil  the  picture 
spread  before  me  in  all  its  indescribable  beauty. 
The  deep  blue  of  the  water  dotted  by  the  small 
crafts  of  every  description  was  shadowed  by  the 
verdure-covered  mountains.  Palms  and  other 
tropical  trees  edged  the  islands  like  the  soft  strokes 
of  a  painter's  brush.  As  we  drew  nearer,  the  ris- 
ing sun's  pink  glow  was  reflected  in  high  lights  on 
the  sails  of  the  sampans  and  changed  the  purple 
glow  to  deep  rose.  The  air  was  balmy,  the  sea 
like  glass.  Early  as  it  was,  a  large  crowd  had 
gathered  on  the  pier,  natives  laden  with  flower- 
petaled  leis,  men  and  women  in  white  linen,  Japs 
and  Chinese,  Hindoos,  negroes,  Mexicans  and  our 
soldiers  in  khaki.  A  band  played  some  plaintive, 
soft  melodies  on  guitars  and  ukuleles,  as  only 
Hawaiians  know  how  to  play,  and  so  we  landed, 
and  nowhere  else  is  a  stranger  welcomed  with  the 

[129] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

same  shy,  friendly  smile  of  greeting  that  the 
Hawaiians  accorded  us. 

It  is  a  different  world  I  am  transported  to, 
oriental  in  tone,  cosmopolitan  in  spirit,  and,  yet, 
after  spending  a  few  days  here  I  feel  the  unwar- 
ranted intrusion  of  the  aliens,  and  resent  the  so- 
called  civilization  that  has  changed  this  idyllic 
paradise  of  the  natives  into  a  thriving,  bustling 
tourist's  mecca.  The  missionaries  have  much  to 
answer  for.  They  not  only  robbed  the  Hawaiians 
of  their  land  and  native  freedom,  but  of  the  bliss 
of  ignorant  contentment  in  their  music,  their 
laughter  and  their  loves.  Nature  lavishly  pro- 
vided their  needs;  the  sea  for  their  bath,  flowers 
and  fruit  everywhere;  they  had  joy  in  their  hearts, 
and  songs  always  on  their  lips.  The  gods  had  given 
them  of  their  best,  and  nothing  we  can  offer  can 
compensate  them  for  their  lost  Eden.  I  may  be 
sentimentally  foolish  to  feel  as  I  do,  but  I  shall 
always  remember  my  visit  here  with  a  tinge  of 
regret  and  remember  Honolulu,  not  as  it  is  today, 
but  for  what  it  has  been. 

Our  ex-governor  is  at  the  Monoa  with  us.  In 
fact  he  is  too  much  in  evidence  to  suit  my  pur- 
pose; his  unselfish  kindness  to  Dorothy  and  me 
will  not  allow  of  snubbing  him,  and  our  new  circle 
of  fellow  travelers  includes  him  naturally  in  every 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

expedition  and  pairs  us  off  with  aggravating  regu- 
larity. It  sounds  horribly  conceited,  but  I'm 
afraid  I  will  have  to  tell  him  I  am  a  married 
woman,  and  much  as  I  dislike  to  on  Dorothy's 
account,  tell  him  of  Gordon. 

We  are  very  gay  here;  music  and  dancing  every 
evening  after  the  daily  drives,  sails  and  bathing. 
I  like  best  to  watch  the  surf  riders;  their  bronzed 
bodies  poised  like  birds,  riding  the  billows  with 
the  ease  of  zephyrs.  I  should  like  to  imitate  them 
but  I  know  I  should  be  drowned  in  the  effort. 

Tom  cabled  all  was  well  at  the  Home,  which 
relieved  my  mind,  and  gives  me  zest  for  further 
enjoyment.  I  have  not  heard  from  you  for  some 
time,  but  expect  at  least  one  letter  from  you  be- 
fore I  return. 

Tomorrow  we  visit  the  crater.  I  won't  describe 
it,  for  you  have  read  of  it  too  often  to  waste  time 
in  a  repetition,  and  my  letters  are  not  to  be  fash- 
ioned after  a  tourist's  guide.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  and  span  the  distance  that  separates  us,  and 
hope  my  letters  will  carry  my  thoughts  to  you  as 
I  send  them.  We  seem  destined  never  to  meet 
again,  Jerry,  and  yet  you  are  always  very  near  to 
me;  even  in  this  Isle  of  Paradise,  amidst  the 
strange  scenes  and  stranger  people,  I  feel  your 
presence  and  hear  your  voice. 

[131] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Ours  is  a  strange  friendship,  giving  much  that 
is  essential  to  complete  mutual  happiness,  yet 
never  crossing  the  dividing  line  to  a  different  love. 
I  often  wonder  at  it  and  believe  it  is  rare  indeed. 
It  is  the  one  blessing  the  Fates  have  decreed  should 
abide  and  I  believe  the  loss  of  it  would  mean  more 
to  me  than  all  the  other  sorrows  and  disappoint- 
ments of  my  varied  strenuous  life;  that  and  the 
possible  failure  of  the  Home  of  Peace.  You  repre- 
sent the  human  element  and  the  Home,  the  ma- 
terial interest  of  my  composite  existence.  The 
loss  of  either  would  leave  me  stranded. 

There  are  not  many  old  people  here,  but  the  few 
I  saw  made  me  homesick  for  my  friends  at  the 
Home.  I  know  they  miss  me,  and  because  I  have 
the  well  wishes  and  love  of  so  many  to  follow  me, 
it  is  not  strange  that  every  hour  here  is  fraught 
with  delight.  I  am  thoroughly  and  determinedly 
selfish  in  my  abandonment.  I  want  to  have  a  real 
rest  and  then  go  back  to  my  unfinished  work  with 
renewed  vigor  and  fresher  ideas. 

It  is  late,  dear,  and  we  sail  early  to  see  the  vol- 
cano, so  good-night,  pleasant  dreams  and,  Jerry, 
boy,  let  them  be  some  times  of 

YOUR  EDITH. 


LETTER  XVIII 
JERRY,  DEAR: 

WE  HAVE  been  back  to  Honolulu  for 
some  days.  I  cannot  say  I  enjoyed  the 
trip  to  the  crater  as  much  as  I  expected. 
There  was  little  or  no  eruption;  the  volcano  seemed 
very  sinister  in  its  subdued  sulphurous  excretions. 
The  desolation  of  lava-covered  area  was  impres- 
sive but  not  beautiful.   I  was  glad  to  return  to  the 
hotel  and  positively  relieved  to  get  back  on  the 
steamer;  and  Honolulu  looked  mighty  good  to  me 
when  we  arrived. 

There  was  a  ship  leaving  for  the  States  the  same 
evening.  The  Governor  left  on  it.  It  was  best  so, 
although  I  am  sorry  I  spoiled  his  vacation.  Jerry, 
you  will  believe  me  when  I  say  I  never  dreamed 
he  was  seriously  attracted  to  me,  and  that  as  soon 
as  I  had  the  opportunity  I  told  him  of  Gordon.  I 
despise  a  thoughtless  flirt  and  I  feel  very  deeply 
the  fact  that  he  misconstrued  my  exuberance  and 
believed  me  free  from  all  marital  responsibilities. 
He  will  soon  forget  me,  or  if  he  remembers  at  all 
it  will  be  only  as  an  unpleasant  incident  in  his 
visit  to  Honolulu. 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

Dorothy  said  she  saw  the  climax  coming  long 
before  I  even  suspected  the  truth  and  was  enjoy- 
ing the  situation  immensely.  I  felt  very  angry  at 
her,  for  if  that  were  true,  she  could  have  saved  us 
both  the  necessity  of  an  embarrassing  explanation, 
for  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  sailing  under  false  colors, 
and  yet  I  simply  could  not  tell  mere  traveling 
acquaintances  of  my  unhappiness,  and  I  never 
thought  of  the  possibility  of  being  made  love  to. 
In  a  measure  it  has  spoiled  my  vacation  and  I 
shall  not  be  quite  so  happy  and  gay  as  I  have  been 
and  shall  spend  the  balance  of  my  time  here  very 
quietly,  really  resting. 

I  shall  delve  into  the  lyric  history  of  the  Ha- 
waiians.  It  fascinates  me;  it  will  give  me  some- 
thing to  tell  my  people  at  the  Home,  for  of  course 
they  will  want  to  hear  all  about  my  trip,  and  I 
want  to  picture  Honolulu  to  them  as  I  see  it; 
to  visualize  the  Japanese  girl-mothers  in  kimonos, 
carrying  their  babes  on  their  backs,  and  the 
Hawaiians  in  their  Mother-Hubbard  dresses  (they 
are  always  shorter  in  front)  selling  their  leis  and 
wreaths  on  street  corners  without  an  envious 
thought  for  their  more  favored  half-white  sisters 
who  ride  by  them  in  their  autos  or  carriages,  the 
wives  or  daughters  of  American  army  officers.  I'll 
have  much  to  tell  them  on  my  return,  which  won't 

[134] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

be  long  now,  for  I  feel  the  call  of  my  work  and  I 
must  not  tarry  much  longer. 

I  shall  not  write  you  again  until  my  return 
home.  Dorothy  has  agreed  to  come  home  with 
me.  I  am  anxious  to  have  Tom  meet  her.  He  has 
only  a  vague  recollection  of  her  years  ago  when 
Gordon  and  I  were  married.  She  was  a  thin, 
freckled  and  awkward  child  then;  he  will  be 
amazed  at  the  change  and  I  believe  he  will  enjoy 
having  her  with  us — I  hear  the  whistle  of  the 
steamer.  I  will  close  this  so  as  to  send  it  on  board 
by  the  Jap  who  is  patiently  waiting  for  me  to 
finish,  so  au  revoir.  When  I  write  again  it  will 
be  from  California. 

Hastily, 

EDITH. 


LETTER  XIX 
MY  DEAR  JERRY: 

YES,  it  has  been  a  long  time  since  my  last 
letter  to  you,  and  a  great  many  things  have 
transpired  since  my  visit  to  Honolulu, 
which,  if  chronicled  in  regular  bulletins,  would 
have  filled  many  letters.  But  you  deserved  some 
punishment  for  taking  the  only  time  I  was  away 
to  visit  my  adopted  city  and  the  Home  of  Peace. 

None  of  the  many  nice  things  you  have  said  of 
my  work,  my  Home,  or  of  Southern  California 
can  make  up  to  me  for  not  seeing  you.  If  you  even 
had  hinted  of  the  possibility  of  your  coming,  you 
know  I  should  have  remained  at  home  on  just  a 
bare  chance  of  seeing  you.  I  could  not  believe 
my  ears  when  Tom  told  me  you  had  been  a  guest 
at  our  bungalow  ten  long  days,  and  I  miles  away. 
It  certainly  seemed  premeditated  and  yet,  for  the 
life  of  me,  I  cannot  see  why  you  should  want  to 
avoid  me;  of  course  it  was  a  coincidence,  but  it 
made  me  very  miserable. 

Tom  told  me  of  your  keen  interest  in  my  old 
people;  of  your  auto  trips  to  Pine  Hills,  Campo  and 
Alpine,  and  of  your  enjoyment  of  the  magnificent 

[136] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

views;  and  while  I  was  glad  you  now  knew  my 
beautiful  mountains,  I  wanted  to  have  been  in 
Tom's  place  when  you  saw  them.  You  say  in  one 
of  your  letters  everything  seemed  familiar  from 
my  descriptions  and  that  my  house  breathed  of 
me.  Houses  are  like  that,  Jerry,  the  personality 
of  the  occupants  is  impressed  on  every  inanimate 
object,  and  the  atmosphere  fairly  reverberates 
with  their  presence. 

I  like  to  think  you  have  been  here,  since  the 
keen  edge  of  my  disappointment  has  worn  off,  that 
you  have  sat  in  the  chair  I  call  yours,  that  you 
have  spent  days  at  the  Home  of  Peace  and  now 
know  all  my  people.  They  were  glad  to  have  me 
back.  I  received  a  royal  welcome.  Every  pillar 
and  post  was  decorated.  The  dining-room  was 
ablaze  with  gorgeous  flowers.  They  were  at  din- 
ner when  I  arrived,  and  such  shouting  and  cheer- 
ing you  never  heard.  I  kissed  every  one  of  them 
and  confess,  cried  a  little  in  my  joy  to  be  with 
them  again.  Oh,  it  was  good  to  be  back!  The  Home 
never  looked  better  nor  the  members  more  happy. 

It  is  good  work,  Jerry,  I  am  proud  of  it  and 
prouder  still  of  the  dear  old  people  who  have 
helped  to  make  it  the  wonderful  place  it  is.  I 
know  there  is  no  other  Home  like  it,  with  its 
freedom  from  restraint,  and  the  wide-awake 

[137] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

mutual  interest  that  is  so  much  in  evidence. 

How  I  wish  Henry  Lessing  were  alive  to  see  it. 
It  is  developing  just  as  we  planned  it  should,  and 
now  that  we  are  to  have  our  hospital  without 
waiting  until  Mr.  McCurdy's  death,  there  remains 
only  the  assembly  hall  and  the  chapel  to  wish  for, 
and  an  endowment. 

I  don't  suppose  you  have  forgotten  the  trouble 
I  had  over  the  McCurdy  gift.  Well,  the  sequel 
was  this.  Mrs.  Childs  married  her  brother-in-law 
and  somehow  induced  him  to  deed  over  the  one- 
half  interest  in  the  McCurdy  estate,  which  the 
Board  of  Directors  returned  to  him  on  request  of 
his  young  lawyer  friend.  The  next  move  of  the 
conspirators  was  to  enter  into  negotiations  with 
our  trustees  for  the  purchase  of  the  other  half, 
which  was  finally  arranged  on  condition  that  the 
purchase  price  would  be  immediately  available  for 
the  building  of  the  hospital.  So  you  see,  Jerry, 
the  Childs-Philips  contingent  won  after  all.  They 
now  have  possession  of  the  entire  estate  at  the 
cost  of  less  than  a  third  of  its  value. 

From  a  business  standpoint  we  did  not  do  well, 
but  under  the  circumstances  it  was  best  to  take  a 
half  loaf  and  eliminate  unpleasant  possibilities  in 
a  strife  with  people  of  their  calibre.  So  now  the 
hospital  is  under  way. 

[138] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

I  am  superintending  its  erection  and,  believe 
me,  it  will  be  spacious,  airy  and  have  sunshine  in 
every  room.  I  spend  hours  every  night  in  the 
study  of  hospital  management,  or  more  correctly 
speaking,  in  the  study  of  the  needs  of  the  sick.  I 
have  a  full  complement  of  books  on  nursing,  in- 
cluding a  "Materia  Medica,"  so  that  by  the  time 
the  hospital  is  ready  for  business  I  shall  have 
some  practical  knowledge  in  every  branch  of  that 
work,  and  be  prepared  for  an  intelligent  super- 
vision of  the  hospital's  requirements. 

My  days  are  so  full  there  are  not  hours  enough 
in  them  for  all  I  want  to  do.  I  have  no  time  for 
thinking  of  my  personal  worries,  nor  have  I  given 
much  time  to  Dorothy.  I  turned  her  over  to  Tom 
to  amuse,  and  I  begin  to  have  a  suspicion  that 
neither  misses  me  or  minds  my  absorption. 

Tom  is  like  another  being,  his  interests  are 
awakened  and  his  ambitions  fired.  He  has  bought 
several  ranches  and  is  taking  up  farming  as  a 
profession,  seriously.  I  am  selfishly  satisfied  his 
ambition  has  not  led  him  to  adopt  some  other 
vocation,  for  he  can  still  look  after  the  farm  at  the 
Home,  which  is  a  big  responsibility  in  itself  and 
a  large  factor  in  the  production  of  our  supplies. 
We  have  the  finest  vegetables  the  year  around, 
and  fruit  in  season  and  get  our  milk  from  our  own 

[139] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

dairy.  It  is  one  of  the  many  features  that  makes 
the  Home  so  desirable. 

As  for  Dorothy,  she  is  lovelier  than  ever;  if  it 
isn't  Tom  who  is  responsible  for  her  blooming  I 
don't  know  who  is,  for  after  all  we  lead  rather 
quiet  lives  socially.  Dot  refused  to  be  formally 
entertained,  and  fell  easily  into  the  habits  of  our 
household.  Tom  and  she  motor  all  over  the  coun- 
try and  she  is  taking  a  keen  interest  in  agricul- 
ture. I  would  feel  out  of  it  were  I  not  too  busy  to 
mind.  Yet  I  miss  Tom's  undivided  interest  and 
realize  what  it  will  mean  if  he  decides  to  marry 
and  settle  down  in  a  home  of  his  own. 

I  am  glad  you  went  to  see  Gordon  while  you 
were  here.  Of  course  he  did  not  know  you.  He 
doesn't  know  me,  and  as  he  is  being  well  cared  for  I 
do  not  often  visit  him.  It  is  a  task  that  grows  more 
irksome  with  each  year.  I  cannot  blame  myself, 
however,  nor  alter  the  unfortunate  conditions. 

Jerry,  don't  wait  for  me  to  write  you;  under- 
stand I  am  with  you  in  spirit  even  if  others  claim 
every  moment  of  my  time.  I  need  your  letters, 
every  one  of  them;  they  are  the  bright  spots  in 
my  life,  for  no  one  else  seems  to  care  as  much 
what  I  do  and  how  I  fare,  and  one  never  grows  too 
old  to  be  indifferent  to  solicitation.  I  played  a  few 
weeks  while  in  Honolulu,  and  now  that  my  holiday 

[140] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

is  over  I  am  back  to  my  job  and  working  hard,  but 
not  any  harder  than  I  want  to.  I  am  far  too  rest- 
less to  desire  leisure.  If  I  were  not  kept  busily 
employed  I  might  get  into  mischief,  or  worse, 
imagine  myself  miserable.  Either  would  cause  you 
to  worry,  but  not  enough  to  bring  you  here.  If 
there  were  a  chance,  I  would  plan  some  wild  and 
woolly  escapade,  or  threaten  suicide — There!  I 
promised  myself  never  again  to  intimate  how  much 
I  wanted  to  see  you — but  it  is  no  use;  I  do  want 
to  see  you  more  than  you  can  possibly  realize. 
Friendship,  like  love,  has  claims  and  you  have  been 
sadly  delinquent,  and  Jerry,  my  dear  friend,  I  have 
been  a  very  patient  creditor. 

Yours  as  always, 

EDITH. 


[141] 


LETTER  XX 

MY  DEAR  JERRY: 

THIS  is  my  first  opportunity  to  write  you 
at  length.  I  could  not  possibly  find  time 
before  to  write  more  than  a  few  lines  in 
acknowledgment  of  your  dear,  chatty  letters,  that 
meant  so  much  to  me  in  the  chaos  of  building,  fur- 
nishing and  launching  our  hospital.  It  is  furnished 
at  last,  and  is  a  beauty.  Every  room  opens  to  the 
sunlight,  wide  verandas  everywhere,  from  each 
window  a  beautiful  view  of  our  park  with  the  scent 
of  orange  blossoms  wafted  through.  I  will  enclose  a 
folder  that  will  tell  you  of  the  operating  room,  the 
hydro-therapy  department  and  the  fine  equip- 
ment that  rates  it  first  class  in  every  particular. 

It  has  been  planned  to  do  public  service  as  well 
as  care  for  our  own  sick,  and  I  hope  the  revenue 
earned  will  be  sufficient  not  only  to  support  the 
hospital  but  to  add  to  our  sinking  fund,  for  it  is  a 
great  responsibility,  and  unless  the  physicians  sup- 
port it,  it  will  be  an  added  financial  burden  that 
the  Home  can  ill  afford,  but  I'm  not  borrowing 
trouble.  The  benefit  to  our  old  people  of  this 
added  accessory  to  the  Home's  equipment  cannot 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

be  estimated  alone  in  dollars  and  cents.  I  do  not 
know  of  another  institution  of  this  kind  that  has 
a  fully  equipped  and  regular  up-to-the-minute  hos- 
pital at  its  command,  and  old  Mr.  McCurdy  was 
justified  in  the  pride  he  expressed  in  it  the  day  of 
its  dedication. 

We  made  a  great  event  of  this  occasion.  The 
Home  was  en  fete^  and  hundreds  came  to  the 
exercises  and  inspected  the  hospital.  Mr.  Mc- 
Curdy formally  presented  the  building  to  the 
Home,  and  in  a  quavering  voice  made  quite  a 
speech.  He  paid  me  a  high  tribute  and  inci- 
dentally said  he  hoped  the  balance  of  his  wealth 
would  be  used  in  behalf  of  our  Home.  Poor  dear, 
he  does  not  realize  his  present  wife  and  her  friend 
have  made  that  impossible.  However,  he  has  done 
a  fine  thing  with  part  of  his  money.  He  has  made 
it  possible  to  administer  to  and  ease  suffering 
creatures,  and  the  McCurdy  Hospital  will  stand 
a  monument  to  his  memory  long  after  all  parties 
connected  with  it  have  passed  away. 

I  have  news  for  you — Tom  and  Dorothy  are 
engaged.  They  are  to  be  married  in  the  Fall.  Both 
are  very  happy.  Tom  is  building  a  bungalow  at 
View  Dale  on  one  of  his  largest  ranches.  It  is  only 
a  short  distance  from  the  Home,  and  he  has  prom- 
ised not  to  desert  me  in  looking  after  the  Home 

[143] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

farm.  Dot  has  returned  to  Chicago.  She  will  be 
married  from  her  father's  home.  I  hope  to  go  East 
to  the  wedding  and  have  written  mother  to  come 
West  to  live  with  me  when  I  return. 

Before  Tom  came  I  was  perfectly  content  to  live 
alone,  but  it  will  be  unbearable  now.  I  shall  very 
probably  run  down  to  St.  Louis  then  and  will  see 
you,  if  you  do  not  take  that  time  to  run  over  to 
Africa  or  to  some  other  distant  clime.  If  you  do, 
I  shall  know  you  are  purposely  avoiding  me  and 
you  will  never  be  able  to  give  me  a  satisfactory 
explanation — in  fact  I  should  decide  I  had  been 
deceiving  myself  and  that  our  much-vaunted 
friendship  was  a  myth  of  my  own  making,  and 
that  the  long  years  since  we  have  met  had  com- 
pletely effaced  me  from  your  old-time  affection 
and  regard. 

Jerry,  I  must  have  some  more  money  at  once. 
If  you  won't  touch  the  principal,  at  least  send  me 
the  accrued  interest  you  spoke  of  investing.  I  need 
the  money  to  help  get  the  hospital  started  and  am 
not  needing  more  money  for  myself.  Now  don't 
grumble,  dear  friend.  You  never  can  change  me; 
I  am  incorrigible  when  it  comes  to  persuading  me 
to  pile  up  a  fortune  for  myself.  It  was  fortunate 
I  allowed  you  to  tie  up  my  little  all  beyond  my 
power  to  use  any  except  the  interest,  without  the 

[  H4] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

consent  of  the  trustees,  for  I  certainly  should  have 
little  or  nothing  left,  for  there  have  been  times 
without  number  when  I  wanted  to  do  something 
for  the  Home  that  seemed  important  enough  for 
any  sacrifice  I  might  make.  However,  all  I  have 
will  some  day  go  to  the  Home.  Probably  I  shall 
want  some  building  erected  in  my  memory,  for 
there  is  not  even  a  cornerstone  that  marks  the 
work  with  my  name,  and  I  should  like  not  to  be 
soon  forgotten. 

You  see  I  am  quite  alone,  the  Home  is  the  near- 
est active  interest  in  my  life.  It  has  become  the 
best  part  of  me;  it  has  my  first  waking  thought 
each  morning  and  my  last  at  night.  I  work  hard, 
but  indeed  I  do  not  deserve  commiseration,  for  I 
love  my  work  and  my  old  people;  they  fill  my  life 
to  overflowing,  and  their  love  and  contentment  are 
full  compensation. 

Yours  faithfully, 

EDITH. 


[145] 


LETTER  XXI 

MY  DEAR  JERRY: 

I  AM  intensely  interested  in  every  phase  of  hos- 
pital work.  What  a  field  there  is  in  nursing  as 
a  vocation  for  women  of  the  right  sort!  But 
I  regret  that  too  many  see  only  the  possible 
remuneration  and  not  the  divine  privilege  of  ad- 
ministering to  the  suffering,  and  lack  that  tender 
touch  of  sympathetic  understanding  that  is  more 
than  half  of  the  essence  of  a  nurse's  profession. 
With  the  schooling  and  the  training  that  is  now 
required  they  have  become  a  very  important  factor 
to  the  surgeons  and  physicians  in  their  work,  and 
I  am  afraid  that  there  is  not  enough  of  the  nurse, 
but  more  of  the  physician's  assistant  in  the  too 
technically  trained  graduate,  and  their  duty  to- 
ward the  patient  is  on  too  prescribed  lines.  The 
adjusting  of  this  super-knowledge  with  the  homely 
services  the  sick  require,  depends  entirely  upon  the 
nurse's  ability  to  forget  herself  in  the  interest  of 
her  patient.  I  have  seen  nurses  who  could  diag- 
nose a  patient's  symptoms  accurately,  upon  whose 
knowledge  the  physicians  depended  absolutely, 
satisfied  that  the  report  to  him  over  the  telephone 

[146] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

was  as  dependable  as  his  own  observation,  yet  who 
thought  that  the  cleanliness  and  neatness  of  the 
sick  room  were  not  in  their  province,  but  the  work 
of  an  orderly,  who  believed  the  preparation  of  their 
patient's  diet  was  beneath  their  dignity  and  call- 
ing. I  cannot  admire  this  class.  They  are  detri- 
mental to  the  profession,  and  if  the  physicians 
realized  it,  a  real  menace  to  their  own  success,  for 
the  importance  with  which  they  invest  themselves 
overshadows  the  skill  of  the  physician,  and  being 
constantly  with  the  case,  impresses  accordingly. 
I  do  not  mean  to  disparage  knowledge,  one  can 
never  know  too  much,  but  I  should  like  to  see 
more  emphasis  put  on  that  branch  of  their  educa- 
tion which  will  graduate  the  student  with  a  truer 
insight  into  the  actual  requirements  of  a  sick  room 
and  to  take  her  cases  in  the  same  spirit  as  a  mother 
ministering  to  her  child.  Nothing  is  more  appeal- 
ing than  the  sick  and  suffering.  It  should  call  out 
in  every  woman  the  best  there  is  in  her.  The 
maternal  instinct,  largely  developed,  makes  the 
best  nurse,  regardless  of  the  knowledge  she  may 
possess  of  anatomy  or  materia  medica. 

So,  too,  the  true  physician  is  born,  not  made, 
and  the  same  rule  regarding  fitness  applies  to  him 
as  it  does  to  the  nurse.  No  physician  can  become 
really  great  if  he  cannot  combine  with  necessary 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

skill  a  real  love  for  his  fellow  man  and  a  deep  sym- 
pathy for  suffering. 

I  am  sorry  to  confess.  Jerry,  my  familiarity  with 
doctors  has  lost  me  the  old-time  respect  I  held  for 
the  profession.  I  know  now  that  the  possession  of 
a  diploma  and  an  M.D.  is  not  a  guarantee  for  skill 
or  natural  adaptability,  and  that  the  old-time  doc- 
tor who  sacrificed  his  time  and  himself  for  his 
patients  is  obsolete.  The  modern  doctor  may  be 
more  scientific,  and  his  learning  more  profound, 
theoretically,  but  only  a  small  minority  follow  their 
calling  for  the  love  of  it,  and  science  and  preten- 
tiousness fail  to  take  the  place  of  the  deep  love  and 
abiding  faith  in  the  hearts  and  minds  of  their 
patients,  which  was  part  of  the  old-fashioned  doc- 
tor's pay.  This  sounds  disparaging  and  censorious 
and  is  unjust  to  a  few  of  the  men  I  have  met,  for 
there  is  always  the  exception  to  the  rule,  but  as  it 
is  a  consensus  of  the  results  of  my  observation  it 
will  have  to  stand,  and  I  am  truly  sorry  I  cannot 
believe  I  am  wrong  in  my  estimation  of  the  mod- 
ern, up-to-the-minute  physician  of  today. 

With  the  hospital  in  full  swing,  having  our  quota 
of  business,  I  have  little  time  for  recreation  and  it  is 
surprising  how  little  I  seem  to  miss  it.  The  Board 
of  Directors  urges  me  to  take  another  vacation,  but 
I  prefer  to  remain  at  work.  It  is  all  so  full  of  inter- 

[148] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

est  and  you  can  imagine  how  glad  I  am  that  now, 
when  my  old  people  are  ill,  I  can  see  them  tucked 
comfortably  in  a  white  bed,  with  a  nurse,  the  kind 
I  approve  of,  at  hand  to  do  for  them,  and  a  doctor 
always  within  call.  At  first  it  was  difficult  to  have 
them  look  upon  their  transfer  kindly — they  pre- 
ferred their  familiar  rooms — but  after  one  ex- 
perience, they  agreed  with  me  they  could  receive 
better  care  than  could  be  rendered  at  the  Home. 

Jerry,  I  have  not  told  you  of  late  of  our  Board 
of  Directors,  and  they  certainly  deserve  a  big  share 
of  the  success  of  the  Home,  and  a  special  place  in 
my  letters.  They  have  been  such  a  help  to  me, 
encouraging,  praising  and  lending  their  services  at 
every  opportune  time.  My  early  estimate  of  their 
characters  was  not  far  wrong.  With  the  exception 
of  Mr.  Colburn,  all  have  remained  on  the  Board 
and  have  been  staunch  to  the  promise  made  to 
Mr.  Lessing  to  see  the  thing  through,  and  gradu- 
ally, as  they  realized  my  earnestness  and  the  prog- 
ress and  aim  of  the  Home,  they  have  given  me 
their  allegiance,  and  their  services  have  been  in 
accord.  Judge  Goodridge  steers  all  the  legal  trans- 
actions safely  from  the  shoals  of  litigation,  and 
Mr.  Scott's  shrewd  judgment  in  business  matters 
has  added  to  the  Home's  reputation  for  solvency. 
Mr.  Colburn  fulfilled  my  prophecy  by  resigning 

[H9] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

shortly  after  Mr.  Lessing's  death.  His  place  was 
not  rilled  for  some  time  and  then  by  Dr.  Steel,  but 
I'm  sorry  to  tell  you  I  feel  he,  as  a  director,  is  a 
mistake.  He  was  elected  on  my  recommenda- 
tion, because  it  was  thought  that  a  physician  on 
the  Board  would  be  an  added  benefit  since  we  had 
the  hospital  to  look  after,  but  it  is  a  notorious  fact 
that  doctors  as  a  rule  are  lacking  in  business  in- 
stinct, and  outside  of  their  profession  are  as  im- 
practical as  children,  and  he  is  not  an  exception 
to  this  rule.  As  he  is  not  interested  in  the  Home 
he  has  proved  a  disappointment  to  me,  and  his 
membership  on  the  Board  will  not  extend  over  a 
longer  period  than  it  will  take  to  find  just  the  man 
we  need,  and  there  is  no  doubt  but  he  will  be  glad 
to  resign. 

It  has  been  a  great  advantage  to  me  in  having 
only  a  small  Board  of  Directors  to  contend  with, 
and  I  should  advise  that  the  number  of  trustees  of 
any  like  institution  should  never  exceed  seven;  and 
as  for  an  advisory  committee  or  sub-managing 
board,  may  the  angels  defend,  for  they  are  the  hot- 
house of  trouble  and  are  the  stumbling  blocks  to 
success.  I  tried  it  a  short  while,  but  soon  elimi- 
nated them  when  I  found  that  the  majority  of  the 
women  appointed  had  not  one  opinion  in  common, 
and  that  their  chief  office  was  to  find  fault  and 

[150] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

gossip.  There  were  among  the  number  a  few  sensi- 
ble women  who  appreciated  the  situation  and  sec- 
onded heartily  my  move  to  disband  them.  These 
women  have  unofficially  stood  by  me  and  have 
done  a  world  of  work  from  no  other  incentive  than 
their  knowledge  of  what  the  Home  stood  for,  and 
a  belief  in  my  purpose. 

This  is  rather  a  dictatorial  letter  and  dry  read- 
ing, but  you  asked  me  so  many  questions  and 
writing  thus  at  length  explains  the  situation  and 
answers  you  fully,  also  serving  the  purpose  of 
keeping  you  in  closer  touch  with  my  work.  My 
letters  are  largely  a  detailed  history  of  the  evolu- 
tion of  an  ambitious  idea  into  a  large  and  growing 
institution,  whose  tenets  have  revolutionized  the 
conception  of  age  and  its  requirements  and  placed 
the  sunset  years  largely  on  life's  calendar.  I  am 
hoping  the  Home  of  Peace  will  be  an  object  lesson, 
helping,  by  its  example,  in  the  recognition  of  age 
in  its  true  value. 

Why,  Jerry,  the  Chinese  can  teach  us  a  lesson 
on  this  subject.  In  their  land  of  poppy  and  rice, 
old  men  and  women  are  not  objects  of  commiser- 
ation, but  hold  their  heads  high  in  the  acknowl- 
edged power  and  wisdom  experience  gives.  You 
know  we,  as  a  nation,  are  wastrels;  we  spend  too 
freely  of  every  largess  in  our  power,  and  find  our- 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

selves  suddenly  on  a  brink  with  opportunities  for 
conservation  behind  us,  and  when  we  count  the 
spendthrift  years,  stand  aghast  and  believe  life 
has  nothing  more  to  offer.  This  is  the  tragic  epoch 
of  age,  and  is  the  real  test  of  character;  it  is  a  bitter 
gruelling,  but  no  well-spent  life  but  has  something 
then  to  weigh  in  the  balance,  and  when  stock  is 
taken  and  assets  accurately  appraised  and  no  delu- 
sions remain,  all  things  true  stand  revealed,  and 
with  the  truer  vision  life  has  still  many  gifts  to 
offer  and  age  its  compensation.  I  believe  it  would 
be  of  more  profit  to  be  taught  to  prepare  for  sev- 
enty and  over,  than  to  prepare  for  death,  for  the 
last  great  experience  is  unavoidable,  but  we  can 
fashion  our  lives  as  we  will  and  be  all  the  more 
prepared  to  meet  our  Maker  when  we  are  satisfied 
with  the  account  we  can  render  of  ourselves. 

I  have  not  heard  from  Tom  or  Dorothy  but  once 
since  their  marriage.  They  will  soon  return,  the 
war  in  Europe  having  cut  short  their  honeymoon. 
I  was  sorry  I  could  not  go  East  and  see  them  mar- 
ried but  Gordon's  attack  of  pneumonia  threatened 
to  terminate  seriously  and  my  first  duty  was  to 
him,  of  course.  Since  his  recovery  the  doctors  re- 
port an  improvement  in  his  mental  condition,  and 
I  believe  he  almost  remembers  me,  still  it  is  too 
much  to  hope  for  his  complete  recovery,  although 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

stranger  things  have  happened.  As  for  myself  I'm 
often  tired,  but  perfectly  well  and  still  wanting  to 
see  you,  but  fear  we  will  never  meet  again,  and  that 
our  letters  are  the  only  link  that  binds  us  to  the 
long  ago. 

Yours, 

EDITH. 


LETTER  XXII 
MY  DEAR  JERRY: 

WHAT  an  awful  year  it  has  been!  Can 
there  be  anything  more  calamitous  than 
this  war?  It  seems  incredible  that  a  civ- 
ilization of  centuries'  making  could,  in  so  short  a 
time,  be  almost  wiped  out.  Is  it  not  incompre- 
hensible that  any  nation  or  nations  could  be  drawn 
into  strife  that  sweeps  every  vestige  of  reason  and 
sense  of  right  or  wrong  before  it!  Can  the  warring 
nations  ever  reconcile  this  sacrifice  of  life  and  prop- 
erty with  anything  any  of  them  may  gain  ?  How 
can  men  believe  they  alone  can  upbuild  and  lead 
nations  when  their  primitive  instincts  are  so  near 
the  surface  and  a  lust  to  kill  and  destroy  so  easily 
aroused.  There  may  be  a  hidden  purpose  in  this 
eruption,  some  move  in  the  Great  Scheme  that  will 
justify  this  carnage,  for  surely  all  things  lead  to  the 
great  finale,  but  it  is  beyond  my  comprehension, 
and  nothing  can  explain  away  the  dreadful  evi- 
dence that  man,  as  a  specie,  is  but  little  removed 
from  the  brute. 

I  hope  aspiring  suffragettes  will  use  the  war  and 
its  results  as  a  striking  example  of  what  men  will 

[154] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

do  from  a  despotic  standpoint,  which  justifies  any 
means  to  an  end.  I  hope  you  will  take  this  to  heart, 
Jerry,  for  you  are  certainly  behind  the  times  in 
opposing  equal  suffrage,  and  yet  if  you  read  the 
handwriting  on  the  wall  it  is  inevitable  as  prohibi- 
tion. The  political  pie  will  not  be  more  delectable 
for  having  women's  fingers  in  it,  but  there  at  least 
will  be  enough  of  it  to  go  around. 

The  Home  is  not  apparently  affected  by  the  war. 
In  this  haven  of  peace  the  sheltered  quiet  is  a  strik- 
ing contrast  to  the  turmoil  and  horror  of  war-ridden 
Europe.  They  all  grieve  over  the  futility  and  cost 
of  the  struggle,  and  in  the  wisdom  of  their  years 
counsel  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  all  fellow  men. 

I  have  taken  care  that  the  high  price  of  food  and 
other  commodities  for  their  comfort  has  not  dis- 
turbed them  as  it  has  me.  The  strain  has  been 
tremendous  on  our  financial  resources  and  has 
given  me  many  a  wakeful  night.  Jerry,  I  realize 
that  all  these  people  who  have  gathered  under  the 
protecting  roof  of  the  Home  of  Peace  have  no  other 
warrant  for  the  continuance  of  their  peace  of  mind 
but  my  own  energetic  resolve  to  keep  things  afloat, 
and  if  I  fail  them  they  will  be  bereft  indeed.  Why, 
I  can  not  afford  even  the  luxury  of  a  sick  spell,  and 
if  I  were  to  die,  my  house  would  not  be  in  order  and 
my  duty  to  my  old  people  undone.  I  had  hoped 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

that  the  hospital  would  net  us  handsome  returns, 
but  it  merely  fills  its  mission  in  caring  for  our  sick. 
The  high  prices  of  drugs  and  other  hospital  neces- 
sities consume  any  profit  that  might  accrue  from 
the  amount  of  outside  service  we  are  rendering. 

I  have  fretted  over  conditions  until  I  am  almost 
ill,  and  last  night  I  dreamed  vividly  of  Mr.  Lessing. 
I  seemed  in  the  dream  to  appeal  to  him  for  help  in 
an  effort  I  was  making  to  bring  a  barge  ashore 
through  stormy  waters,  and  that  he  waved  his 
hands  toward  a  rainbow  and  bade  me  go  there  to 
find  my  pot  of  gold,  and  as  I  turned  to  do  his  bid- 
ding the  waters  became  calm  and  I  awoke  just 
before  I  reached  my  goal.  I  am  not  usually  super- 
stitious, Jerry,  but  it  has  been  a  repeated  experi- 
ence when  I  needed  help  most  I  dreamed  of  Mr. 
Lessing,  and  later,  following  an  inspiration,  found 
the  means  of  solving  my  problem.  So  I  shall  fol- 
low the  thought  which  persists  in  my  mind  and  ask 
his  children  to  finish  their  father's  work  by  an 
endowment  that  will  perpetuate  it,  for  I  feel  my 
limitations  have  been  reached  and  until  I  have 
secured  the  Home  from  any  possible  disaster  that 
might  wreck  it  I  cannot  go  on  in  peace.  I  owe  it 
to  our  old  people  and  I  owe  it  to  Mr.  Lessing.  I 
have  not  failed  him  as  yet  and  my  promise  to  him 
to  see  the  proposition  through  must  be  redeemed. 

[156] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

I  should  have  preferred  to  have  earned  a  sufficient 
reserve  for  I  am  not  good  in  asking  favors,  and  it 
will  cost  me  considerable  pride  to  ask  for  help. 
However,  the  Lessing  family  are  fair-minded  and 
appreciative  of  what  has  been  accomplished,  and 
an  amount  necessary  to  safely  endow  the  Home 
will  not  be  a  serious  drain  on  their  large  resources, 
and  I  believe  they  will  want  to  foster  a  work  in 
which  their  father  had  so  much  heart  interest. 

Mrs.  Reeves  takes  a  kindly,  if  cursory,  interest 
in  the  Home,  and  tells  me  I  am  foolish  to  worry, 
and  I  know  she  will  do  all  she  can  toward  interest- 
ing her  family  in  an  endowment,  but  she  has  so 
many  invasions  on  her  time  and  money  that  I 
hesitate  to  intrude  the  Home's  needs  on  her  too 
persistently.  A  rich  woman  has  a  hard  time  of  it 
as  it  is;  every  one  singles  her  out  as  a  victim  to  their 
wiles,  and  cannot  understand  or  forgive  her  lack 
of  interest  in  the  hundreds  of  worthy  enterprises 
for  which  they  are  soliciting  aid.  It  certainly  is 
easier  to  spend  other  people's  money  than  one's 
own,  and  the  rich  have  no  easy  time  of  it  in  main- 
taining their  right  to  dispose  of  their  surplus  as 
they  see  fit  and  yet  meet  with  public  approval. 

I  wrote  Mrs.  Long  a  heart  to  heart  letter,  telling 
her  of  the  need  of  an  endowment,  and  why  I  had 
failed  to  accumulate  sufficient  capital  to  perpetu- 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

ate  the  work  that  has  been  done.  She  will  under- 
stand; she  is  very  like  her  father  in  many  respects, 
and  has  his  understanding  of  the  needs  of  old 
people  and  realizes  I  have  endeavored  to  embody 
in  the  life  of  the  Home  some  of  his  wonderful  per- 
sonality; it  is  fashioned  on  the  same  broad  lines 
that  characterized  his  own  work,  and  there  is 
nothing  tepid  or  vapid  in  its  atmosphere.  Its  foun- 
dation is  deeply  and  strongly  imbedded  in  the  soil 
of  his  giving  and  will  stand  a  monument  to  a  man 
who  did  all  things  well.  She  will  help  me  finish 
the  work  as  he  would  have  finished  it  himself.  I 
believe  he  would  be  pleased  with  what  I  have 
done,  and  the  thought  gratifies  me.  I  have  given 
eight  years  of  hard  work  to  the  up-building  of  the 
Home  of  Peace,  it  has  been  a  work  of  love  and  I 
hope  to  give  as  many  more,  and  when  the  nerve- 
wearing  anxiety  of  ways  and  means  is  eliminated 
I  can  accomplish  much  more,  for  there  are  many 
things  still  to  be  done.  Gradually  different  addi- 
tions to  the  Home  have  been  made.  The  gift  of 
another  five-acre  tract  adjoining  the  Home  grounds 
has  opened  vistas  of  possibilities,  and  I  have  a 
place  selected  on  which  some  day  to  build  a  chapel 
and  assembly  hall. 

I  spend  most  of  my  time  at  the  Home.   Mother 
thinks  it  would  be  better  to  build  a  bungalow  at 

[158] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

View  Dale  and  live  near  the  Home,  but  I  can  work 
better  after  twelve  hours'  intermission  away  from 
the  field  of  my  labors.  I  get  a  better  perspective, 
there  is  not  the  danger  of  overlooking  defects  from 
too  close  a  familiarity,  and  besides  I  owe  mother 
a  little  of  my  undivided  attention  in  an  atmos- 
phere that  is  not  invaded  by  "shop"  interest.  I  am 
happy  to  say  she  has  become  reconciled  to  Califor- 
nia and  has  ceased  to  mourn  her  old  friends,  having 
made  some  new  ones  here,  and  finds  real  happi- 
ness in  the  fact  that  Tom  and  I  are  not  far  apart. 

Dorothy  has  become  a  model  rancher's  wife. 
To  hear  her  talk  of  silos,  alfalfa  and  yearlings  and 
in  fact  of  everything  pertaining  to  ranch  life,  one 
would  hardly  believe  that  less  than  two  years  ago 
she  didn't  know  alfalfa  from  a  cabbage  patch,  and 
wouldn't  recognize  a  disc  if  she  fell  over  it.  Love 
is  a  wonderful  thing,  Jerry,  when  there  is  a  mutual 
interest.  Some  of  the  happiest  marriages  I  know 
of  have  been  where  both  the  man  and  wife  labor 
together  toward  a  definite  goal. 

Tom  and  Dot  are  of  this  fortunate  set.  They 
find  untold  happiness  in  every  living  and  growing 
thing  on  their  ranch,  and  their  faces  reflect  their 
love  for  each  other.  I  have  a  twinge  of  envy  some- 
times. I  seem  always  to  have  just  missed  this  kind 
of  complete  happiness,  and  in  spite  of  my  inde- 

[1591 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 


pendence  have  always  wanted  the  petting  that  the 
clinging  vine  type  of  woman  never  wants  for.  I'm 
not  forgetting  your  petting,  Jerry,  but  it  is  years 
since  I  had  it,  and  perhaps  it  is  the  memory  of  the 
golden  hours  when  you  and  I  were  always  to- 
gether that  makes  my  heart  ache  with  loneliness, 
and  I  realize  at  times  that,  though  my  life  is  full 
of  wortk,  full  of  interest,  I  lack  just  one  element 
of  happiness — love — and  only  in  such  moments 
life  seems  a  bit  dreary — Jerry,  boy,  don't  wait  too 
long  to  find  your  happiness.  I  want  you  to  find 
peace  at  your  fireside,  with  children  hovering  about 
your  knees  and  some  good  woman  loving  you  as 
you  deserve  to  be  loved,  always  near  by.  As  for 
me — I  have  my  old  people.  They  need  me  and 
in  giving  them  all  I  have  to  give,  I  find  consolation. 

Yours,  as  always, 

EDITH. 


160] 


LETTER  XXIII 
JERRY,  Mio: 

IT  IS  done — we  are  to  have  our  endowment, 
and  a  generous  one  it  is  to  be.  How  good 
every  one  has  been  to  me  and  to  the  Home! 
Every  step  of  the  way  someone  has  always  been 
ready  with  the  helping  hand,  and  every  dark  cloud 
has  had  its  silver  lining.   It  has  been  a  long,  hard 
road,  but  our  hour  of  triumph  has  arrived;  the 
Home  will  now  always  be. 

I  went  out  to  the  cemetery  this  morning  and 
strewed  flowers  over  the  graves  of  the  Lessings— 
my  way  of  expressing  my  gratitude  to  their  chil- 
dren for  this  noble  act  of  theirs — and  in  the  quiet 
of  that  garden  of  the  dead  I  fancied  the  whispering 
pines  and  swaying  palms  brought  me  a  message 
from  Henry  Lessing  and  that  I  heard  his  voice  say, 
"Well  done,  now  all  is  well,"  and  as  I  slowly 
wended  my  way  toward  the  city  I  felt  he  rested 
more  peacefully,  his  unfinished  work  had  been 
completed  by  his  children. 

It  was  on  Henry  Lessing,  Jr.,  that  the  burden  of 
arranging  for  the  endowment  fell,  and  he  was  char- 
acteristically blunt  in  expressing  his  opinion  of  the 

[161] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

responsibility  I  had  created.  He  swept  aside  all 
sentiment  and  saw  only  an  audacious  act  of  an 
enthusiast  that  had  created  a  "Frankenstein"  which 
was  threatening  to  crush  her  and  bring  havoc  on 
all  concerned.  All  that  I  had  put  into  the  work 
counted  for  naught  when  I  had  failed  to  provide 
the  means  to  safeguard  it  always.  His  condemna- 
tion had  considerable  truth  in  it  as  far  as  facts 
went,  I  had  builded  largely  on  faith,  and  it  takes 
money,  not  love  of  the  work,  to  sustain  institu- 
tions, and  my  heart  ached  because  I  could  not 
provide  both. 

I  don't  believe  he  meant  to  be  unkind,  he  simply 
did  not  know  all  the  Home  stood  for,  and  because 
it  was  so  great  a  factor  to  human  happiness  it  had 
grown  beyond  its  resources,  and  needed  his  money 
and  other  people's  money  as  other  big  things  need 
the  support  of  those  who  have  to  give. 

However,  he  did  his  part  and  some  day  he  will 
be  glad  of  his  share  in  the  Home  of  Peace.  It  may 
not  be  until  his  youth  and  strength  have  departed, 
but  the  time  will  come  when  he  will  realize  that  all 
great  things  are  born  of  sentiment.  If  I  have  done 
wrong  in  all  these  years,  Jerry,  it  was  "that  good 
might  come,"  and  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
regret  the  years  I  have  spent  in  behalf  of  the  aged. 

I  have  been  ill;  the  anxiety  of  these  last  months 

[162! 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

laid  me  low,  and  I  began  to  fear  that  I  would  not 
be  allowed  to  finish  my  work,  but  since  the  agony 
of  anxiety  has  been  removed  and  I  know  that  noth- 
ing now  will  undo  my  work  of  years,  I  shall  be  able 
to  continue  with  my  old-time  vigor  and  accom- 
plish much  that  is  needed. 

I  have  the  hearty  co-operation  of  intelligent 
members  in  the  Home,  and  since  we  have  added 
two  directors  to  the  Board,  and  elected  Mr.  Reeves 
in  Dr.  Steel's  place,  we  have  an  executive  body  that 
promises  much  for  the  Home's  future  manage- 
ment, for  they  are  men  who  understand  all  the 
Home  represents  and  are  in  deep  sympathy  with  it 
and  will  help  to  sustain  it  on  the  lines  on  which  it 
was  founded.  I  am  very  happy  over  our  good  for- 
tune and  wish  you  were  here  to  help  me  celebrate. 
I  will  take  a  holiday  in  the  near  future  and  perhaps 
surprise  you  with  a  visit.  Will  you  be  glad  to  see 
me,  Jerry  ? 

Happily  yours, 

EDITH. 


[163] 


LETTER  XXIV 

MY  DEAR  JERRY: 

INDEED  I  did  not  want  to  hurt  you  when  I 
asked  you  not  to  come,  as  you  offered  to,  when 
Gordon  died.   I  can  hardly  explain  my  reasons 
even  to  myself,  but  I  felt  I  could  not  bear  to  see 
you  after  so  many  years  until  I  had  grown  accus- 
tomed to  the  new  sense  of  freedom,  and  I  had 
adjusted  my  life  to  the  new  order  of  things. 

I  had  accustomed  myself  to  believe  there  always 
would  be  Gordon,  and  was  wholly  unprepared  for 
the  change  his  death  makes  in  my  life.  You  ask 
me  if  I  have  plans.  I  have  none  as  yet.  I  shall 
go  on  as  before.  The  Home  still  needs  me;  I  real- 
ized how  much  when  the  recent  floods  surrounded 
it  with  danger,  and  what  my  presence  during  the 
storm  meant  to  my  old  people.  No  one  else  needs 
me  really,  and  I  am  not  more  lonely  than  before. 
Now  that  the  Home  is  endowed  I  can  take  a  holi- 
day, but  at  this  writing  I  cannot  tell  when  or 
where  that  holiday  will  be  spent.  It  will  have  to 
be  on  American  soil,  as  the  war  still  rages.  I  shall 
probably  leave  the  decision  with  mother,  for  of 
course  she  never  would  be  satisfied  to  remain  alone, 

[164] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

and  any  place  will  suit  me.   I  need  the  change  for 
I  am  very  tired. 

I  wish  you  lived  here,  Jerry.  St.  Louis  is  so  far 
away  and  writing  so  unsatisfactory.  As  usual  I 
always  want  you  very  much  when  there  has  been 
an  upheaval  or  a  crisis  in  the  order  of  my  life,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  in  these  many  years  you 
never  came  to  see  me,  and  there  were  only  our 
letters  that  served  to  keep  me  in  touch  with  you 
and  only  my  memory  and  imagination  to  picture 
you  as  you  are. 

Do  you  realize,  Jerry,  I  have  many  gray  hairs? 
I'm  no  longer  a  girl,  but  a  woman  who  has  lived 
and  suffered.  I  wonder  what  the  future  has  in 
store  for  me.  I  have  run  the  gamut  of  every  sor- 
row; surely  the  Furies  will  now  pass  me  by. 

Write  to  me  often,  Jerry,  I  need  your  letters. 

EDITH. 


[165] 


LETTER  XXV 

JERRY — JERRY: 

I  DON'T  know  where  to  begin.    I  have  read 
and  read  again  the  letter  you  call  your  confes- 
sion, and  am  trembling  still  with  the  joy  of  it. 
I  can  hardly  believe  it  possible  that  you  have  seen 
me  time  and  again  in  the  long  years  since  we  met, 
and  I  never  sensed  your  presence.   Your  having 
watched  over  me  is  like  you,  but  that  you  have 
loved  me  always  and  I  am  the  one  woman  of  your 
life,  is  too  beautiful  to  grasp. 

Poor  dear,  of  course  I  hurt  you  often  for  I  did 
not  know,  but  please  God  I'll  never  hurt  you 
again.  Jerry,  your  letter  lifted  a  veil  and  I  see 
now  rightly  what  has  always  been  and  what  had 
to  be.  I  am  glad  you  are  proud  of  me,  and  that  the 
cruel  years  of  separation  have  passed,  and,  having 
seen  and  known  the  change  time  has  wrought,  you 
still  desire  me.  But,  Jerry  dear,  you  are  wrong  in 
one  thing.  Your  Peter  Pan  has  grown  up,  and  life 
long  ago  ceased  to  be  a  play-day.  It  has  been  too 
real  for  illusions  to  abide,  and  your  old-time 
playmate  has  learned  real  values,  and  not  the 
least  of  these  is  an  unselfish,  and  abiding  love. 

[166] 


THE  LAST  MILE-STONE 

So,  Jerry  dear,  come  to  me  and  in  this  glorious 
Golden  West  we  will  spend  the  years  that  will  be 
ours,  and  hand  in  hand,  in  the  fullness  of  our  con- 
tentment, give  unto  others. 

Joyously, 

EDITH. 


[167] 


HERE  ENDS  THE  LAST  MILE-STONE,  BEING  A 

SYMPATHETIC  LOVE  STORY 
WOVEN  INTO  TWENTY-FIVE  LETTERS 

BY  EMMA  R.  SAYLOR 
PRINTED  AND  PUBLISHED  BY 

PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY  AT  THEIR  TOMOYE  PRESS 

UNDER  THE  DIRECTION  OF  RICARDO  J.  OROZCO 

IN  THE  CITY  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO 

DURING  JULY  OF 
NINETEEN  SEVENTEEN 


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